Ride
by ScarletStarlet62
Summary: Sort of songfic but not entirely based. Ride by Lana del Rey. Max is a thrill- seeking "bad girl" with an obsession for freedom that often lands her in trouble. When she moves to Arizona, the war in her mind rages between good and bad. So she just rides. Fax!
1. I've Been Out On That Open Road

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride or the song. All rights go to Lana del Rey and James**** Patterson.**

**This story is inspired by Ride by Lana del Rey. I think it might be helpful to watch the music video, its a really wonderful music video! But you certainly dont have to watch it to grasp the story by no means.**

I breathe in the open desert air.

My eyes are closed, but I can still see the turquoise skies kissing the rough, orange terrain. The sun's rays setting the desert on fire. My hair waves like a flag out the window in brown and blonde streaks. The birds on the summer breeze sing, floating on the wind alongside me.

Here, nothing matters. No pain, no suffering, no desires anymore. Just me, the wind and birds, and the freedom.

Malcom X once said something like, "No one can take away your freedom, it takes a man to find it himself."

Well, I find it here- on the open road.

That's why, I guess, I don't mind moving across the country. That, and I didn't have much friends in the first place. A group of boys around my neighborhood- to play football and set things on fire with. Thats all though, really. Just a fun friday night, someone to tell me I'm pretty and stroke my hair as we watch late night television on their couch. Thats all my friends ever were. I can't relate to people- its like no ones like me. My mom says I should give them a chance. Well, I have. And all I got to say is, there must be something about me that makes people think they can say whatever they want. Because I'm quiet, they think I won't react when my "best friend" calls me ugly. But thats another story.

Every night, I pray I'll find my people. Maybe they're waiting here in Arizona for me. I've wished on every star in the night sky a billion times, maybe one more will make the difference. Sparkling and broken, like me.

I'm a singer, not a very popular one as you can imagine- I'm only 16. But I've always dreamed of becoming a beautiful poet. Ive gotten a dozen gigs or so- its better than being a frycook at McDonalds.

I write my own songs mostly. I love fussing with silly, little words and transforming them into something meaningful- a melodic collaboration of sounds to share what you got to give with the world. Its a beautiful thing, really.

I wrote a song, just recently, while we were on the road. Its called _Ride._Im still working on writing the music for it, but Im almost finished. I feel pretty confident in it, which is a big thing for me since I'm my biggest critic. I need to be perfect. I strive and strive to be better constantly. Even self-image. I dont seem like it, but Ive gone days without eating because I've felt fat. Perfection.

My mom doesnt know and I dont think she tries but she makes me feel like I have to be absolutely flawless. So much hurt. An undying hurt in my subconsciousness, that I cover up with giggles and fake smiles. And no one knows.

I savor the wind rushing through my fingers as I dangle my hand out the window. The sunshine, the birds- this is my real happiness that I don't think anyone will ever be able to understand.

Maybe the only thing I'll miss Kentucky, where I'm from, for is my hideout. You cross a creek, climb a hill, then hike up a steep pathway and you find yourself at this beautiful field. Tall, golden grass that glimmers in the sunshine and gently bends against the breeze. This field is just beside a railroad track, and when it comes roaring down the track it makes you feels so small. And then theres a little pathway that leads to this big, old oak tree with a tire swing.

I found my hideout after I was kicked out by my mom, on the 4th of July 2 summers ago. She and my dad were fighting, and my dad hit her. She knows how mad I get when my dad lays a hand on her, so she kicked me out before I could hit him. Because when I hit him, he hits back, and then I hit again. The cops were called last time and I was taken to school 3 hours late in a police car. The prick cop said I would've been put in juvy if I was 13, I was 12. He also said I lied to him. Uh, excuse me,sir, but are you really that dumb to believe I'm lying just because my adult father tells you differently? Yeah, I don't like cops.

Anyways, I was kicked out so I stormed out of the house, jammed my headphones in my ears and blasted the song all the way up. I grabbed my bike and found heaven with the wind in my hair, admired the birds circling above me- I do this everyday. I just wandered around, waiting for my mom to call me and say my dad left, so I could return to that broken house that smelled of my dad's pot and beer.

I wandered and wandered and came upon this beautiful open space. And I've spent alot of time there since, on that tire swing. In the middle of the day, or the dead of night- whenever I felt sad I found my freedom there. I used to jump out my 2nd story window nearly every night of the summer so I could escape. My mother found out and thought I was meeting with some secret lover. Ha. Yeah right.

I'm kind of afraid of people, I hate to admit. I think that's why I rely on nature so much. I just don't trust them, and I'm terrified of opening up. Everyone I've ever trusted has betrayed me.

"About 20 minutes, girls," my mom says in the front seat, "Are you excited?"

My sister, Ella, pouted beside me. "I guess so, new friends..."

"That's right, Els. You too, Max. I'm sure you'll find plenty of friends here," mom said.

I shrugged. Yeah, Ella is my sister. She's 15. She's nothing like me. She can't sing to save her life. She cowers at the mention of a sport and she's beautiful. She has so many friends. Or at least she did back home. But she will find friends. I won't. I don't mind being alone though. One more thing, she's a complete goody-two -shoes and I hate rules.

I have a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom and Ella just settles. If she's told to do something, she just does it. That's why she loves school and I can't stand it. My mom's the same way, that's why she has my dad- she settles.

I don't want to settle with my life. I want every moment to be memorable, every day to be an adventure. I think I want to be a singer. Sometimes the bright lights of Hollywood sounds great, other times I don't want the fame. I'm undecided on everything.

Like religion. I want to believe, everyone _wants_ to believe. My family are all little church mice. Especially my dad, which makes my blood boil. He recites lines from the Bible to me as if he has a right. "Honor thy father," he says.

I know for a fact my heart is more pure and good than his. Sometimes I think he's evil, even- what hes done to my family. But he preaches to me about how to live. Right now, all I know is- I believe in whats good and morally right, and living life to the fullest. Thats my faith for now.

I'm just so undecided.

My mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that's as wide and as wavering as the ocean.

Before I knew it, the rush of warm air halted to a gentle breeze and I heard the car tires roll to a stop. I shook myself out of my daydreams and found myself in front of a big, beautiful house with red shutters and an even bigger yard. I spotted a big oak in the backyard and immediately thought of my tire swing.

My mother awoke my dad who was passed out in the passenger seat and we all collected our things and hurried inside. It was getting late, and I couldn't decide whether I wanted to just sleep because I was tired, or sneak out and explore like I had planned.

My room has a pretty little window seat, with a wide view of my backyard. My room is bigger than it was back home, especially since I had to share a room with Ella. You do not want to share a room with _her_. I'd die for my sister, but she snores like an ogre.

I dropped my bags in the middle of the empty room and collapsed on the just-made bed. I stared at the ceiling and before I could help it, I was dragged under unconsciousness.

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	2. Opening Act Needed

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

I'd been bad in my life.

I've been crazy, wild. But I _know _I am a good person. My mother even told me, she knows alot of good people-and herself and Ella have good hearts, but I have a heart of gold.

I almost cried when she said that. I've been crying alot lately, not ever over myself- at least not directly. I cry over Disney movies when I feel I can relate to the characters. But on an a balanced-hormone day, put me down and I won't show any emotion, save for anger maybe.

Anyway, I have a good heart. I feel every emotion to the extreme. When I'm mad I could kill you, when I love you I'd die for you without a second thought.

No one else seems to feel this way about anyone anymore, and it makes me sad. It seems like everyone's feelings are artificial, they're just robots. Which bums me out because here I am- loving a guy with every fiber in my being, and he couldn't care as much as I do. Just musing, of course. That's why I don't enter relationships. Not my thing- I just feel like I'd I have to settle.

But I do want love. So bad. Don't get me wrong- I don't want sex. I just want to be loved.

I just want to mean _something _to _somebody_.

And I don't mean to sound narcissistic or whatever, but I think I deserve it, too. _Real _love. I may sound girly and cheesy-but I don't want someone to love to just call him my boyfriend, I want him. To love and be loved by me- Edgar Allen Poe, I love him. Walt Whitman, too- he's great.

Anyways, again, I've been in Arizona now for 4 days. I'll go to school for the first time tomorrow. Excited? Hell no. Ella? Excited would be an understatement. I mean, my God, the girl has already made friends. Already! She's such a loser. Sigh.

I've been busy exploring. Finding new streets and alleyways, shortcuts and dirt roads. So much fun. I think I like it here. There's a park behind the woods in my backyard, so all I have to do is walk a few yards. I've been spending my days there alot because it's got this beast swingset. Like wicked beast.

I sit on the swing, the wind in my hair and I stare at the sky. During the day, its as turquoise as the Hawaiian coasts at the top and it blends into a sweet baby blue where it meets the clay horizons. Then, my favorite part, when the hot sun begins to dip down behind the distant canyons, all around you is illuminated like the light cast from a fire and turns everything into fiery oranges and reds. The sky is a watercolor of magentas and scarlets in the deepest, brightest hues you can imagine- then suddenly its all gone, like someone blew the flame out on a candle. But just when you thought you missed that sky, you're greeted with this onyx abyss hovering over you like God, embroidered with diamond-stars, sparkling and broken. And I wish upon them, over and over and over again.

Its inspiring. So inspiring I finished my song's music.

And along one my little explorations, a neon sign caught my eye saying some of the most beautiful words I've heard in a while.

Opening Act Needed

It's a cute, little theatre I found here while I was wandering about and it looks perfect for me, so I went in and asked if I could sing as the opening act. They made me sing a song and I sang Ride. They said I was a little young, but that they would love if I sang my song next Saturday night. Easy money.

* * *

It was a sunny September Sunday, the last day before Ella and I had to go to our new school. My last few breaths of freedom and I wasn't letting a single moment go to waste.

I was sprawled across the couch watching SpongeBob and eating Doritos; the life. I was wearing jean shorts and a white t-shirt that I cut across the shoulders last summer when I got bored, and my messy, curly hair and red Chucks were dangling over the opposite arms of the couch. It must've been an amusing sight because when Ella and her new little possy of friends barged in through the front door, they certainly chuckled a bit.

Ella, on the other hand, looked mad for some reason. She's always mad at me, so I didn't care and returned my attention to Squidward and Doritos.

"Ahem!" I heard right beside my ear. I nearly jumped and turned to see my dear, baby sister standing behind me with her arms crossed.

I, again, ignored her and looked back to the TV screen. "Max!" she said snatching up the Doritos from my hands and flipping off the TV.

"Hey!"I said simultaneously with a tall, blonde guy that was assumedly one of Ella's new best buds.

"Spongebob fan for life," he said admittedly. I looked at him amused and Ella said,

"I told you me and my friends are having a sleepover in the basement tonight, and we're going to watch a movie on this TV so Mom and myself both told you multiple times not to make a mess! So what do you do?You get freaking Dorito crumbs and your dirty shoe germs all over the couch!"

I paused for a moment then looked over to Ella's 3 friends waiting awkwardly by the door. "Are you_ sure _you want to be her friend?" I asked them.

Ella groaned and stomped her foot. "Max, please can't you just leave?"

I shook my head childishly, purposely making my curls bounce about my head. She grumbled then tried to push me off the couch but I held my ground.

She stopped tugging finally, exasperated. I "HA!"'d at her and she burst,

"Just because you don't have any friends doesn't mean I can't!"

Inside I was hurt. You know those times when out of nowhere, one of those few people in your life who can really hurt you because you care about them most, just says something and it feels like you've been stabbed.

I've had worse, but this still hurt.

I stood and grabbed my Ipod and headphones off a little side table and angrily shoved them in my ears. As I made my way to the door, I looked at all Ella's friends that I secretly wished I could have. The blonde boy and a pretty, black girl were looking at me but when I caught their gaze they stared at the floor. But the black-haired kid kept my gaze. And we had this moment of... Recognition?

His eyes didn't behold sympathy,really, more like an understanding. It felt like we were passing notes in secrecy, but as soon as the moment began it ended with the slam of the front door behind me.

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	3. Marlboro Blues

**Yo.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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I need a cigarette. I need a cigarette.

That's all I could think. I hadn't had one in 2 weeks, and I don't smoke often. I know it's dumb. But, you know those times when you're just in a state of blindness? Like you know what you're doing is wrong and that maybe you don't even want to do it- but you'll do it anyway because you're blinded by something much bigger.

Right then, that much bigger thing was my life. And I didn't really give a fuck. It wasn't entirely Ella, it was Ella and the sum of everything else.

I sat on the swing, eyeing the group of boys at the picnic table with a cloud of smoke hanging over them. I was debating in my mind whether to ask for one or not. Then one of them caught my eye, nudged his friend and pointed in my direction and let out a wolf whistle. They began to slowly, seemingly waltz, in their intoxicated state, over to me.

"Hey," a guy in blue jeans and white T-Shirt said.

I nodded at him in recognition, and eyed the rest of them warily.

"You want somethin', don't ya? Yeah, I can tell. I see it in your eyes," he said, crouching in front of my swing and pointing at my eyes. I must of made a face, or he just found himself amusing because he threw his head back laughing. "What is it? Hm? We got beer...we got some cigarettes...whatcha want,honey?"

"How much would a cigarette be?" I asked, unsure.

"How 'bout a kiss?"he said.

I inhaled the smoke around me, hanging over me, taunting me. God, I need one. Just one.

"Just a kiss?" I asked.

He smiled coyly, and said," Yeah. Not just a little peck though, gimme some tongue."

I sighed deeply. I'd done this loads of times in the past. Making out with guys I hardly know- they were my friends, but I still barely knew them. I remember we'd stay out til 2 or 3 in the morning, wandering, having fun. Then, we'd all go inside and get more drunk and make out on the couch. I'd fall asleep in someone's arms, and it felt good even though I knew I didn't mean much to them.

I always would feel loved, until I woke up with their arm around me, hungover. Then I'd stumble out of bed untangling myself from them, without looking back at whatever guy it was who was asleep behind me, and leave.

As I'd leave, I'd always think about how much I wish they really felt something for me. Then, I'd think that I don't even deserve to be loved because of what I do. But I never actually do anything sexual with them because I know they're just a distraction, not the real thing. I manage to remember that even in my drunk state, thank God. I wake up with echos of "C'mon, just take your shirt off," and I vaguely remember always tiredly shaking my head and snapping their hands off when they try to remove any clothes.

I know they don't seem like friends. But they were the closest things to friends I've ever had.

Its always fun when you do whatever you want, and its more fun when whatever you want is what your not supposed to be doing.

I watched him take a swig of Captain Morgan's. I made a face at him, he must be real drunk because that crap by itself tastes absolutely fowl. This might sound kiddy, but put it in with some cherry Kool-Aid and you hardly notice its there and get a quick buzz.

"How 'bout I give you a dollar?" I offered.

He shook his head. My hands started to quake in need of that sweet addiction on my lips. I sighed, "Fine."

I stood up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and started making out with him and he quickly reacted, hungrily pushing his tongue to the back of my mouth. I wasn't intending for it to be long, I just wanted to get it over with but he deepened it and picked me up by the back of my knees, urging me to hook my legs around him so I just went with it. _Oh, what the hell, right?_

He handed his rum to his buddy behind him, and his buddy laughed,"I'm next!"

Then the guy I was kissing entangled his fingers in my hair. He must have walked closer to the picnic tables because he lowered me onto one and continued kissing me.

I like a rush. I like riding on the back of a motorcycle, or driving with windows down, or getting drunk and wild. Making out gives me a rush.

I stopped him, pushing away his chest off of me and breathed," Where's my cigarette?"

He smiled and drew one from his pocket and I put it between my lips and he lit it for me. I sighed in relief.

"You oughta stop smokin'. Filthy habit for a pretty girl like you," he said.

I eyed him for a second, taking a drag, then smiled," What's your name?"

"Dylan. Whatta bout you?"

"Max."

He laughed, "Why you gotta guy name?"

I shrugged, not bothering to go into detail. "Its not a guy's name if it's mine, is it?"

He smirked. "Guess not. You just moved in here, didn't you?"

I nodded. " Do you go to Scott Highschool?"

He nodded. "Its my first day tomorrow," I said.

"I can show you 'round if you'd like. I could pick you up if you'd like."

I cocked my head in thought. "Sure. I live in that house there," I said pointing behind the trees.

"I know, I live down the street. I'm a junior, whatta 'bout you?"

"Same."

"Nice," he said nodding.

I yawned big and loudly, and realized I was very tired.

"I'm gonna go. If you're late tomorrow, I'll kill you."

He laughed. "I'll let you."


	4. Mondays and Chevrolets

I awaited my ride, whilst watching Johnny Bravo and eating a poptart the next morning. Ella sat at the table eating cereal in a frilly skirt with heat- curled hair. I don't know why she thinks needs to dress up for our first day at school. Probably one of the boys in her dumb little possy. She's so weird.

"Max, I'm riding with the kids that came over yesterday. If you wanna come with us, they said you're welcome," Ella said.

My mom piped up from behind her own bowl of cereal, " You should go, Max. Friends would be good for you."

I snorted. " Actually," I dragged out dramatically, " I've already got a ride. My new friend is taking me."

"Oh?" my mom said unsure, "What's she like?"

Then 2 honks sounded from outside and Ella and I both hopped up and Ella ran to the window by the door excitedly. As she peered out, her smile faded to confusion and she turned to look at me. " Its for you," she said.

I smiled at her and grabbed my backpack and hugged my mom. " Bye guys."

I ran out the door to see a rusty old Chevrolet in our driveway. I hopped in and he smirked at me slyly.

"What?" I said.

"Your mom is glaring at me from the window."

I looked to see my mother, indeed, glaring at us with a furrowed brow from the window. My face turned red and Dylan laughed at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

He wiggled his fingers at mom with a boyish grin as we drove away. I laughed and started fiddling with the radio until I landed on Lola by the Kinks.

"L-O-L-A, Lola," he sang and I laughed. "By the way, sorry 'bout last night. I was drunk, I'm not always like that."

"Well, I am."

"You are what?" he asked confused.

" Always like that," I said and he smirked, shaking his head.

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We walked in together and I pulled out my schedule and looked at my first period.

"You're upstairs, I'm downstairs. Want me to show you where to go?" Dylan asked.

"Nah, I got it. Later," I said and we parted.

I found my classroom and hesitantly stumbled through the door, my teacher double- glanced at me from her computer screen and with raised eyebrows asked, " Are you Maximum?"

"Yes. I go by Max."

She peered at me through semi-circle glasses wearily. I looked at myself. I don't look like a hobo druggie today, I thought, so why is she looking at me like I do?

"Sit over there, Claudia show her," she said. "I'm Mrs. Robinson so don't call me anything but. Now hurry to your seat, the bells about to ring and whoever is not in their seats by the bell is late in my book."

I walked away rolling my eyes. Bitch, I thought. I followed Claudia's so helpful droopy finger pointing in the general direction of a wall. I just chose an empty seat and smiled ever-so - charmingly at Claudia's disapproving look.

Claudia, what a dumb name.

I decided to glance around the classroom and try to read people's minds like I always do in school. It was when I glanced at the back left corner that I noticed a pair of curious, dark eyes trained on me.

It was Ella's buddy from yesturday, the dark one. She probably told them something bad about me. Unless he's just looking at me funny because I spontaneously grew six arms. Hm. He is pretty cute, though. Huh.

I furrowed my brow at him and he quirked an eyebrow and stared a moment longer before looking away, as if he were bored.

Well, this class is gonna suck.

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**Fang's POV**

Ella's sister walked through the door of my first period, English, and I sat up in my chair a hardly visible bit. I watched as Mrs. Robinson glared at Max, and however amusing it was, it made me kinda mad. Ella, now Mrs. Robinson. This girl's probably got a low self-esteem.

I wanted to look away, but I didn't want to. So I didn't.

I saw her roll her eyes as she headed for her seat and I smirked. I saw her faux-grin at Claudia, and I held back a laugh. Then I watched as she looked about in thought. She looked sad.

Suddenly, as if I called her name, her brown eyes landed on me curiously. We held a gaze, I was trying so hard to understand her and it looked like she was trying to understand me.

I finally looked away, unsure of what else to do.

Huh. She was...almost exotic.

Well, this class is gonna be interesting.

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**Max's POV**

The bell rang for lunch and I raced for the door in relief. Wait, do I even know where the cafeteria is? I'll just follow the crowd, I decided, putting my headphones in and turning up Lonely Boy by the Black Keys.

"Max! Hey, Max!" I heard from somewhere behind me. I looked back, searching for a familiar face until my eyes landed on a smiling Dylan.

As he took his place beside me amidst the swarming crowds racing for food, his god-like blonde hair swooped back, windblown. My heart skipped as I thought, My God, James Dean.

His eyes sparkled and he took a swig of a Coke bottle. "Where you been all my life, honey?" he said with mock- adoration.

I laughed. I liked guys like this. He was fun. I was about to reply sarcastically when I heard my name being called. God, I am popular today.

I saw Ella standing at the end of the hall, waving quite excessively and in sync with a mocha skinned girl that was at our house yesterday. The two boys were with them too, the fellow SpongeBob fan and the dark one that hates me. Well, he might not hate me; probably, though.

I waved back with a slight smile. She got on my nerves, but she was my sister so I met her and her possy at the end of the hall. Dylan followed in suit a bit apprehensively.

"Max! Hi! Ya know we never really met, but you seem, like,sooo cool. All mysterious, like. Kinda like Fang, 'cause he's weird too. I mean, not that you're weird. Weird can be a good thing its just-"

"Shut up, Nudge!" the pale guy said exasperatedly. "Sup Max. I'm Jeff. But people call me Iggy, 'cause I ignite things," he said waggling his eyebrows.

Was that supposed to be suggestive?

"I'm Nudge! Really, I'm Monique. Call me whatever, but most people call me Nudge."

" Hi," I said with a small smile at them and a little wave.

"I'm Fang," came a velvety voice and I almost jumped. I forgot about the dark one.

"Fang?" I asked before I knew it.

He nodded and eyed me warily. Why does everyone do that? I'm not a freakin criminal. Well, doing illegal things sometimes doesn't really make you a criminal. Only kind of. But I'm a good person! Why do people hate me?

I noticed they kept glancing at Dylan suspiciously. They think we're ax-murderers and they're like freakin saints! What did Ella tell them?!

A siren rang out from the bathroom on the other side of the hall. Somebody was smoking. Two guys stepped out nonchalantly and when they saw Dylan, they started laughing. The 3 of them did little handshake/ high five things and laughed conspiratorially for a few moments before Dylan said, " Hey, Max, I'm going to lunch but there's an open seat at our table. I can wait up for you."

" She's sitting with us!" Nudge said.

Ella piped up, "Thanks, though!"

I rolled my eyes and held back a groan. Who did they think they were?

Dylan looked to me with a knowing smirk and said, "Maybe tomorrow."

" We're driving her home, too!" Nudge said.

Dylan said, " Oh, okay. Later. See ya, Max." He shot me one last boyish grin and left down the stairwell with a chorus of stomps and squeaky sneakers.

I turned back to them with a glare. "Sorry, Max, but he's just like your friends back home. You weren't truly happy back home. Just hang out with us," Ella said.

" Would you stop preaching to me, for the love of God?" I said. I massaged my temples and muttered, " You think you have it all figured out.'Be like me! Follow me, I'll show you the promiseland!"

"Max, what are you going on about?" Ella said.

"C'mon, lets just go," I said begrudgingly. I stole a glance at "Fang" and saw him smirking. Hmph. Glad I amuse him.

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We sat down at a round table in the back of the cafeteria, just big enough for the five of us. I sat by Ella, Iggy sat on the other side of Ella, and Nudge sat by Iggy. That left Fang to sit between me and Nudge.

Nudge, Ella, and Iggy were already lost in an apparently extremely humorous conversation as Fang and I silently ate our disgusting school food. It was obvious we were the quiet type in the group.

Fang swirled his fork around in his maccaroni, and I watched, bored. I traced the rough calluses on his big hands with my eyes and before I knew it, asked,

"You play guitar, don't you?"

Fang looked up at me from his tray and furrowed his brow,"You been stalking me?"

I smirked, " Your hands. Guitar-playing hands."

"Oh, I guess so," he said briefly studying his hands, " Do you play?"

"No. I have one though, I tried to learn but it's too confusing."

He stopped in thought and slowly said, "Maybe, I could teach you sometime?"

"Sure, but I'm an awful student. You might have some gray hairs after the first lesson," I replied.

He smirked, "Salt and pepper hair. Like George Clooney."

I don't know if it was because it seemed so out of character for him, but I burst out laughing, catching the attention of Iggy, Nudge, and Ella.

Fang watched me with a smirky grin until he started chuckling along with me.

The bell rang and we threw away our trays. "Later," Fang said with a smile.

I smiled back, "Later."

Nudge caught up to me in the hall and grabbed me by the arm, " Oh my God, are you magical?"

"What?" I asked, very confused.

She sighed as if I was missing something completely obvious,"Fang doesn't laugh and smile, and act like _that_ for just anyone."

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	5. Honor Thy Father

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**Disclaimer: i own nothing.**

**Sorry for so much swearing. Its not classy but its true life.:)**

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It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon and I was thrilled just to be out of that horrid building called Scott High School. I had been riding home with Ella, Nudge, Iggy, and Fang in Iggy's mom's minivan that he borrowed everyday for school and got dropped off by Dylan. But today I wanted to walk.

It's not that far and the sky is so blue- I had been admiring it inside those dirty windows in those boring brick walls all day, I just had to finally get out here and breathe it all in.

There's not many instances that I can say I like who I am, but I like who I am when I can be me-out here. The birds, wind, and breeze don't judge. I think I like who I am when I'm on stage too, like at the corner café back home that I'd sing at on weekends and Wednesday nights. But at the same time, its terrifying.

Anyways, I dropped off my music yesterday for the band at the theatre that will be playing with me on Saturday. I'm excited, sort of, but I'll freak the fuck out right before the show and probably have to smoke. I really hate that I have to smoke, its a weakness.

I smiled up at the sky. What really is there to be unhappy about? Well, alot. But look around you and you find there is so much to be overjoyed about.

I scrolled through the songs on my iPod as I stumbled along the sidewalk.

Three songs later, and I made my way up my front steps. My mom was at work and Ella was at Nudge's so I knew just my dad would be home. Unfortunately.

I climbed up the stairs and my dad walked out of the bathroom shirtless with shaving cream on his face. "How'd it go?"

I ignored him and went in my room dropping my backpack on the ground, kicking off my shoes, and collapsing on my bed. Peace and quiet at last.

The door creaked open and my dad said, " Hey, Maxie? Why can't we be friends?"

I rolled my eyes and said with a groan,"You're not supposed to be my friend, your supposed to be my father. Now, get out!"

"Why don't you people love me? You and your mom just hate,hate, hate. Its sick!"

"Just leave me alone, oh my God!"

"Yeah, oh my God'. Like you have a right to say that. You and your mom are evil, not me," he said.

" Oh shut the fuck up, you sunnovabitch. And just get the fuck out of my room!"

" You know you're gonna go to hell if you keep this up, Maxie. You're supposed to 'Honor thy father."

I was fuming. But that was what he wanted.

"If you're my preacher, who's God? Another drug dealer?"

He shook his head at me and I sat up in my bed, feeling the need to punch him repeatedly. "Maxie, you don't even know a thing about me."

"Okay! SHUT UP! Just SHUT UP! If I don't know a thing about you, its because I don't care to and that's no one's fault but your's. And stop preaching to me for the love of God!"

"I'm just saying, you need to believe in God, Maxie. On judgment day- what you think he'll say about you?"

"Well, if I can lie, kiss ass, and be as fake as you I'll get into heaven just fine. You are such a horrible person and I know for a fact that I am, and Mom especially is, 1000 times better than you could ever dream of becoming. You're nothing to me. You're absolute shit. I couldn't care less if you dropped dead in front of me right now."

He walked closer to me and I pushed him out of my room. He slapped me upside the head, he said," I'm tired of you hitting on me!"

I tried getting him off me when he grabbed my arms, screaming and spitting in my face, but I couldn't so I kneed him where it counts. Bad idea.

He dropped to the floor, cradling his ...stuff, and cussing at me and I slammed the door on him. My door didn't have a lock, so all I could do was push from the other side of the door, waiting for him to get up and try to come in.

And then he did. With my back pressed against the door, he tried barging it open from the other side. He got it a quarter of a way open the first time, and pushed me into my dresser the second.

Before I knew it, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and threw my down, making me hit my head on the corner of my bed. I tried getting up to throw another punch at him but he kicked me in the gut three times while I lay there. He screamed, "Don't you ever do that to me ever again! You understand?!"

I stumbled up and slapped him across the face with all the force I could muster and he started pounding on my head, holding me by the back of my neck. I fought against him but he grabbed my wrists and said," I'll break your fucking arm, you stupid bitch!"

I yelled at him, looking at his ugly, stormy blue eyes and his gritted teeth," I dare you! Go ahead, you lousy, fuckin piece of crap!"

And he bent back my hand until I heard a little pop. "Get the hell off of me!" I screamed and after a few moments he did, to my surprise, then he left without a word.

I grabbed my phone and iPod, ready to storm out of the house for the swingset. But I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and blood was seeping down my hairline onto my forehead. Well, shit.

I went into the bathroom, avoiding my dad as he was in my mom's bedroom with the door closed. I put the black bottle of stuff onto a cotton ball and started patting my head with it where it was bleeding, like my mom always did for me after I did stupid stuff over the summer.

It hurt but I didn't really worry. Head wounds bleed alot. I know a bit of medical crap because my mom is a vet. Plus I've been in the hospital,like, 6 times.

My mom is a really good person, and I love her so much. I don't think she knows how much I do. But she's always so preoccupied. This whole world is preoccupied.

I wasn't going to tell her- about what happened. She didn't need to know. My dad wasn't going to tell her. She's too preoccupied as it is. She didn't need to know.

* * *

I was sitting on my window seat with my 'Come Fly With Me' CD on. My dad left 40 minutes ago to go to 'work.' Really, he was going to sell drugs and/ or get stoned and wasted. I sighed. _Don't let him take your soul away, Max. Don't let it break your heart._

I saw Ella walking up the sidewalk with Fang, Iggy, and Nudge in tow. As always. They were all stuck like glue. I secretly envied it, then again I do need time alone. Social isn't my thing.

"Max? You home?" Ella's voice rang out through the house. I sighed and went down the stairs to meet the 'gang.'

"Oh, hey," she said with a smile as I reached the bottom step.

"Hi, Max! You should have came over , too! It was so fun!" Nudge squealed.

I smiled and nodded a bit and took a seat on the couch beside Iggy who had sprawled himself across the couch. Fang sat across from me in an arm chair, I glanced up to see he was studying me. He always was. I didn't really think I was that interesting.

I nodded at him and gave a small smile. He bent closer and said, "What's up?"

I shrugged. "Nothin'."

"What you been up to?" he asked quietly.

I furrowed my brow, was he getting at something?

Iggy chimed in, "She's been smooching with Dylan. You guys getting pretty serious, huh?"

I laughed at him," We're not even dating, butthead."

Fang leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "You okay?" I asked him.

He looked at me blankly, then nodded. Hm. This kid is so weird. There's something I like about him though. I like his style.

Iggy flipped on SpongeBob and I turned my attention to the screen as Ella and Nudge talked and ate ice cream in the kitchen. I laughed at the TV, and at how much Iggy found Patrick Star amusing. And I nearly forgot my mess with my dad, but the whole time I felt Fang's stare, and it was about to eat me alive.

* * *

I must have fell asleep watching SpongeBob because I woke up with Iggy gently shaking my shoulder. "Huh?" I mumbled.

"C'mon Max! Get up! We have to go home soon!" Nudge said.

I sat up to see Ella and Nudge standing over me. Iggy was sitting upright beside me, and Fang hadn't moved. "What do I care? Go home, I was trying to sleep."

Iggy laughed and then turned to mock-hurt, "How could you? After all we've been through?"

I hit him over the head with a pillow and he shut up. "Well, I didn't want to go home without saying goodbye, duh!" Nudge said.

I smiled at her, "You like people more than you should."

"That's what I've been trying to tell her!" Iggy said pointing between him and her repeatedly while shooting me faces, indicating that Nudge was, apparently, in love with him. Nudge's face turned red and she hit him with a pillow and he shut up. Again.

"Anyway, we're going to the mall Saturday and you should come,Max!" Ella said.

"I can't. I have to work," I said.

"You have a job?" Maybe all of them said.

"Well, not a job. A gig. At the theater," I replied, "Didn't I tell you that?"

"No, you didn't tell me that! That's so cool, can I go?" Ella asked.

I shrugged and Nudge squealed excitedly, "Yeah, we can all go! Oh my God, are you in,like, a band? Can you sing?"

I shrugged. "I guess so."

"Old Paul's Theatre?" Fang asked.

I nodded. "Are you gonna sing?"

I nodded again and he smirked. "Cool, what time should I be there?"

I sighed. "You guys are gonna make me more nervous than I already will be."

"C'mon, Max! I can't make fun of you if I don't see you! What time does it start?" Iggy said.

I laughed and said, "Doors open at 7:00."

"We'll be there," Fang said with a smirk.


	6. A Work of Art

When I was little, my real dad would pick me up and we'd drive to Tennessee just for the hell of it. That was when my parents were divorced but they still loved each other. Ella and my current 'dad' moved in, and my dad moved out. I hated it.

But my dad understood me. He understood me better than anyone else ever had. I'd hop in his car in 3rd and 4th grade, and we'd roll down the windows and turn up the radio. And before we left he'd always tell my mom, "Don't worry, we won't run away too far."

My dad was the best man I knew. I remember we were talking forever and I said, "Ella said I was a psycho, do you think I'm crazy?"

He nodded without a second thought, I pouted and he looked over to me with a smirk. "But you are free. Look around, sweetheart. We're both a little crazy, but we're having fun and making this day worth living. That's what it's all about."

Then my dad was drafted. We counted down the days until he came back home, but he never did. We were informed, one day, how a bullet had took his life. He died a hero.

My father made his life into a work of art. And I strive to achieve just as much.

But the sad thing is, I don't think my dad would be proud of me today. But I keep striving.

My stepdad wasn't always how he is now, but I never liked him. He took my dad from me, but he did give me Ella. That little brat- she's the only good thing that came out of my stepdad.

But still, its only once in a lifetime you meet somebody like my dad.

* * *

"Max, you need to talk to me about things before you just go out and do them," my mom scorned over the clanking of silverware at dinner Friday night.

"I didn't realize it was of importance," I said.

" You go across town, you could've been raped, you could've been mugged. I swear to God, Max, use your head," my mom said between long sighs.

"But I wasn't. And its not all the way across town. Its like 2 miles away."

"She did get a job though, that's good, isn't it?" Ella piped up.

"Ella,this isn't for you to chime in about," Mom said and I shot Ella a sympathetic 'Thanks, anyway' look. My mom sighed and said, "Old Paul's? What is it- a bar? Probably full of strippers and drunks-"

"No, mom. Its just a theatre. Strictly for entertainment. There's a bar in it, but, I mean, its sophisticated sorta," I said.

"I have to work tomorrow night, I can't go," my mom said.

"That's cool. Don't worry 'bout it-" I said but Ella interjected,

"But she wrote this one! The lyrics and the music!"

"I'm sorry, hon. I need to work as often as possible," Mom said.

"I know. I understand- it doesn't matter. Ella, shut up," I said. She pouted at me and I stuck my tongue out at her. With food on it.

"EW!" Ella squealed.

"Max, stop acting like an 8 year old boy, for God's sake!" my Mom exclaimed.

I swallowed my food and laughed. Ella giggled, "You're so gross."

* * *

Since Ella blabbed to Dylan today at school about me singing, he's going too. He said he wouldn't miss it for the world. But I know he would miss it if he got dealed a little bit of pot.

Not like I care. I'd rather them all not go just because I freak the fuck out before I go on stage anyway.

It's terrifying to look out on a crowd of people knowing they all have certain expectations in their heads, and you have to be good enough. But the same time its exhilarating. If it's the right song, after the first chorus you get zoned in and its like you're in a dream. Like coming in touch with your darkest fantasies for however brief a moment.

I climbed into bed, exhausted. I haven't been able to sleep a full night in awhile with all these thoughts bouncing in my head, keeping me awake. But I better get good sleep tonight. Tomorrow, its show time.


	7. Butterflies

My fingers trembled as they struggled to keep the cigarette between my lips. I leaned my head back against the brick wall, closed my eyes and exhaled, hoping to turn my nerves into clouds of smoke in the brisk, night air.

The Walgreen's electric sign across the street said it was 6:50. Ten minutes to showtime.

I heard my name being called behind the backdoor of Old Paul's backstage that I had propped open with a brick. I relunctantly put out my cigarette, straighted the skirt of my vintage, white dress and tried to strut through the door to booste my confidence. If I acted confident, maybe I will be.

The girl who did my hair and makeup tsk-ed at me and sat me back down in front of the vanity for last minute touch-ups. If I said I didn't love this feeling, I'd be lying. The old Hollywood vanity, the cameras, the audience behind the curtain patiently sipping their wine.

I looked down at my feet and thought about how fancy they must feel in these high,high heels. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pretty. My dress wasn't glamorous, just classy which I liked. It gave off a 'I know I look good, but I don't really give a shit' vibe.

My usually wild and barely bothered with hair was somehow tamed to a gentle curl with an almost mirror-like shine, which reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor.

Someone whispered to me, "Listen for your name, then walk out." Then they pushed me to this duct tape"X" a few feet behind the midnight blue curtains.

I heard the announcer,a man, probably the owner, speaking from a microphone in front of the curtains before me. But I couldn't quite make out the words, it sounded blurry. Then the was applause, then hissed whispers and pointed fingers of the stage-hands around me. Then the curtains slowly opened, and as if I was in auto-pilot, it all fell into place.

I glided out over the stage to the mic, waiting for me on a stand. The spotlight followed me and as I reached my place before the mic stand, I glanced about the audience with wide eyes.

The band hummed the opening behind me, and on cue, like I was born for this, I began my song into the microphone with every intention of sending each lyric to the audience's ears to dispose their hearts and minds of all the emotion, sweat, and heartache I put into that song.

_I've been out on that open road_

_You can be my full-time daddy, white and gold_

_Singin' blues has been gettin' old_

_You can be my full-time baby, hot or cold _

_Don't break me down_

_I've been travelin' too long_

_I've been tryin' too hard_

_With one pretty song_

_I hear the birds on the summer breeze_

_I drive fast, I am alone in the night_

_Been trying hard to not to get into trouble_

_But I, I've got a war in my mind_

_I just ride, I just ride, I just ride, I just ride_

_Dyin' young and playin' hard_

_That's the way my father made his life an art_

_Drink all day and we talk til dark_

_'Cause that's the way the road dogs do it, ride til dark_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't say goodbye_

_Don't turn around_

_And leave me high and dry_

As I entered the second chorus, the stage was mine. The audience was no longer relevant. The lyrics were mine, the music was mine, and all they had to do was listen. As I swayed, clutching onto the microphone, under the hot lights, I think they did. I think they were listening.

_I'm tired of feelin' like I'm fuckin' crazy_

_I'm tired of drivin' til I see stars in my eyes_

_It's all I got to keep myself sane, baby,_

_Too much I strive, I just ride_

_I hear the birds on the summer breeze_

_I drive fast, I am alone in the night_

_Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble_

_But I, I've got a war in my mind_

_I just ride, I just ride, I just ride, I just ride _

As my last notes rang out through the theater, I took a moment to really look at the audience once more. There was well-dressed adults sipping their wine, a few trouble-maker teens looking to hear rock, and I spotted familiars faces towards the back. Even Dylan came.

I watched them applaud along with the rest of theatre, except they stood up and a was a little more riotous. I sheiled my eyes from the lights with my hands, and smiled sheepishly at them before muttering a, "Thank you," into the mic and disappearing behind the curtains.


	8. Incognito Psycho

**Disclaimer: i own nothing. Not Lana del rey and not her song disco which I use for a poem.**

**Thanks for reviewing, reading, following, favoriting. All your reviews make me smile, you guys are cute. :)**

* * *

**Fang's POV**

When she floated onto that stage, seemingly a ghost in her white dress, the world went quiet. She glanced about the small tabled audience with deer in headlights eyes, waiting for her time to sing.

And when she did, I listened more intensely than I ever had listened to anything. She looked so scared, like a terrified little girl, when she hit those nightengale notes. As if she were feeling every emotion the lyric entailed as they left her lips.

I thought I understood Max, and I think I did a bit more than most. But when she shyly muttered a 'Thank you' into the microphone and disappeared behind the dark blue curtains, I understood her much better. I think that whole room understood her better.

She got the world, or at least that small theatre, to listen. And for that, I envied her.

* * *

I got up for school on Monday and the second I wedged my eyelids open, I regretted it in nostalgic memory of the lazy weekend I spent with Max, Ella, Iggy, and Nudge. Mostly Max.

I took a shower, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs for breakfast; all while half-asleep! Thats pretty freakin astonishing, if you ask me.

When I hit the bottom floor, I saw the same sight I saw nearly every morning. My mom's eyes were glued to her laptop with her glasses carefully settled on the bridge of her nose. My dad was making coffee in his suit, which was carefully color-cooridinated. Everything about my parents was careful. They were great and all, but...I dont know. Kind of, nothing more than parents. Caregivers.

"Hey," I mumbled tiredly, grabbing some pancakes from the perfectly stacked pile on the counter.

"Hi, hon," my mom replied, also tired. My dad didn't reply. Oh well, we were all tired and didn't want to talk. We hardly talked in mornings. I rarely talked at all. And so, I put in my headphones and listened to a song Max had showed me over the weekend; it momentarily distracted me from the inevitable fact that my heart felt like the empty house I was in.

* * *

**Max POV**

There are people who are broken. Prostitutes, crackheads, and Suicide Sal. Then there's people that are tied together, who account for nearly the whole population of the world. Now, tied together people aren't the perfect people- hell no. They're the people who may will themselves to get out of bed in the morning, who go about the world like everythings fine.

In my short time on this earth, I've spent a lot of time observing, and I've learned how to read people. We are all really incognito, at least most of us. We put on a smile, and when the world looks away, when the camera's off, we are sad, lonely, little people.

Is anybody really whole? Is anybody really put-together? Maybe the sterotypical, grinning Caucasian family with gleaming eyes playing with the golden retriever in their front yard in political advertisements.

Heck, the dad grilling burgers probably beats his wife ,even.

There are people that are more broken than others, maybe even beyond repair. There are people who are more tied together, there are people who are coming undone. But it's important to remember that none of us are normal. Or sane. Or 'just tired.' Or what we seem.

My stepdad is broken. He's so broken he thinks he's fine, and everyone around him are the pyschos. Well, I am a pyscho-but not a bad one like he is. I'm the inspiring kind like my dad and Vincent van Gogh were. All the coolest people are pyscho.

I'm thinking Fang is kinda pyscho. For starters, his name is Fang. And he refuses to give me an accountable reason as to why. Secondly, he befriended me. A very sane notion,in my opinion, yet a dangerous one all the same. But most of all, he's not like everybody else. I'll throw an endless rant at him about politics, school, people, or life in general and he actually listens through the whole thing and says he agrees at the end of it but that, "It is what you make it."

You know, he is quite a strange character. Despite his dark aura hovering around him like a storm cloud, he is a very happy, optimistic person. And though I'd deny it, I've come to learn a few things from him. Every sky is his own shade of blue, and by indirectly and unknowingly teaching me so, he's made me even more crazy.

What I found by being in English class with him, was that for being the silent type, he had a talent with words. So Monday, when he produced a poem from his backpack, I would've read it except I remembered it was our homework assignment from Friday. That I didn't do.

Fang shook his head and laughed at me as I scrambled for paper and a pencil. I managed to scribble down an adequate surplus of lines by the time Mrs. Robinson went around to collect them, thereby astonishing Fang to my delight.

I was actually quite impressed with it, but for the press for time. Here's what I jotted down:

Disco

Disco, go-go dancer so rare

Move down, up, slow, prostitute stare

I do what I like, I just don't care

I am my only God

Black eyes, short dress, let's break it down

You shoot and I pose, Polaroid frown

I'll do what you like, I won't make a sound

I am my only God

Icon, young star, heroin fiend

Just sit, and I'll sing, I'll be your queen

Poor me, I am my only God

"Max, you're not in your seat," Mrs. Robinson said as she passed the desk next to Fang that I claimed as mine.

"I know, but I could hear them whispering about me back there and you know what,Mrs. Robinson? It almost made me cry, I mean, when a person calls you stupid to their friend when you're in ear-shot ;its just heartbreaking. Then I saw the empty seat by Nick, here, and I figured; well, he's got an A in this class, I got an A in this class- we oughta get along just fine," I finished off the top of my head, looking up to her with hopeful eyes.

She sighed breathily, and just continued along collecting poems.

"You sure are somethin'," Fang said, shaking his head with a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Somethin' fabulous?" I asked.

"You're in a good mood today," Fang proclaimed, "Usually you don't care enough to bother with anything."

Huh. Did I really come off so bitter?

"Hm. Do you think poorly of me, Nicholas?" I asked.

He looked up from the paper he was scribbling on caught me eyes, "Why'd you call me Nicholas?"

"Avoiding the question? I see where we stand," I declared with an honest pout.

Fang chuckled briefly and threw me a reassuring smirk. "Just think about this. I work like you. You only tolerate a select few, I only tolerate a select few. And those select few are the only ones we choose to communicate with, and on rare occasion."

"Wow, Fang, you're sooo smart," I said with faux goo-goo eyes, shifting my hand under my chin.

He smiled at me and shook his head, because he knew I understood what he said. Fang and I just were like that; an inexplainable bond that grew when he watched me perform.

He meant I was exceptional to him. And that was alot for him to say,so for that, he was exceptional to me.

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	9. Coming Undone

"Get out of my face, cunt!" I heard as I approached my front door after walking home from school. Iggy, Ella,Nudge, and Fang were going to see some zombie movie that I strubbornly didn't want to see. So they dropped me off at my house and left.

I hesitated as I listened to the fight behind the door, my hand holding a key hovering by the knob. It was the same fight I always heard. My dad never went to work, never did anything for us; and my dad would then falsely accuse her of cheating on him and call her countless names that made me want to just kill him.

I swallowed my fear and turned the lock and stepped into my home to find my stepdad gripping my mom's face, his own inches from her, with spit flying as he yelled at her.

I just can't help myself with these things. "Get the fuck off her!" I demanded him.

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" my dad barked over my mom who said,

"Just go to your room, Max."

But why would I just leave with my dad doing this to her? I couldn't. She always wanted me to, but it just didn't make sense to me at all. How on earth am I supposed to walk away from my family being attacked? That's the people you're supposed to protect.

And so, of course, I didn't. Instead, I marched into the kitchen and pushed him off of her, earning a swing to the head from my dad.

"Don't touch her, you jackass!" my mom shrilled,"Max, please just leave. He's drunk."

I wanted to cry seeing the pleading in her eyes. But it wasn't enough to make me leave her alone.

"You want more?" my dad asked me, as I nonchalantly moved myself in front of my mom, making it an unnoticeable movement.

I laughed bitterly at him, "When are you ever gonna grow up?"

"When am I gonna grow up? What about YOU?" he countered lamely.

I quirked an eyebrow at how him, realizing again just how much a waste of time he is. " God, you are pathetic. You're just a worthless, waste of space. And are we done now? 'Cause you're wasting my time."

He lunged at me grabbing a fistful of my hair and got nose-to-nose with me. He was nearly foaming at the mouth, and he growled through gritted teeth. "Listen bitch, how many times do I have to tell you- you don't talk to me that way!"

And holding me by my hair he punched me in the face and I literally saw stars. It was black, and I gripped the kitchen counter for support. My mom shrieked, "You asshole! You don't touch her, I'll kill you!" She began feebly punching and slapping his chest and sides and he grabbed her hands and wrists.

I stumbled up and pushed him away from her again after clawing his hands off of her, uncovering red marks and bruises on my mom's petite, overworked hands.

He grabbed my chin and roared, "Get off me!" and threw me into a coffee table by the couch. I hit my head on the corner, and it hurt really bad. It felt like it was pounding. In a daze, I saw my mom looking at me and pushing my dad into a wall. Then I felt my head, and pulled it back to look at it to see it was covered in blood.

And that's all I remember.

* * *

I fluttered my eyes open. I was on the couch snuggled up in blankets. I sat up and felt my head to find gauze wrapped around it. I snorted. A little dramatic, mom. "Mom?" I called to no reply.

I tiredly got up from the couch and stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the light. I noticed a yellow post-it note on the fridge. I grabbed it and read my mom's bubbly scrawl:

_Sorry I had to leave, sweetie. Work is important now. I fixed you all up, you don't need stitches but keep the wrap on to prevent infection. There's pain medicine in the cabinet. Your stepdad left and won't be home until late. Call me if you need me._

_Sorry about all of this._

God, how many times did I need to tell her she didn't need to say sorry for anything? That woman is too saintly, I swear.

Despite, my mother's request I went into the bathroom and began removing the gauze. It did hurt.

Maybe some of that pain medicine, I thought, and began fumbling through the cabinet for it. I swallowed two pills and returned to my spit on the couch, coiling myself into a ball under the covers.

As I lay there I wanted alot of things. I wanted Fang, I wanted a cigarette, but mostly I wanted to be drunk. Just forget it all.

I just felt like throwing it all away. I few tears silently slipped onto my cheeks and I covered my head with the blanket. Just as I was about to drift into unconsciousness, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Expecting my mom, but hoping for Fang, I turned on my phone to find Dylan's name across the screen. His text read,

"Hey, come over to my place. We got pizza."

I thought about it and texted back,

_Who's over there with you?_

A minute later, I received the reply,

_Just the guys. Parents are gone. _

I knew by 'the guys' he meant Johnny and Matt. Johnny was the guy smoking in the bathroom on the first day I came to Scott. They're both pretty cool.

After a moment's thought, I replied back an, I'll be there. I grabbed my red chucks, wiped my teary eyes and started my way down the sidewalk for Dylan's house.

* * *

"You want some more, hunny?" Dylan slurred, and I bobbed my head as in yes. He grinned like a wolf and filled up my cup with whatever alcohol it was. We were on his couch and my legs were in his lap, my barefeet dangling, and his arm around my shoulders. Johnny was smoking in an arm chair with his own glass before him and Matt was scarfing down pizza, rightly drunk.

Dylan, I think, was most drunk and I was a very potential competitor.

"Johnny, put me on some Francis Albert Sinatra, please," I said giddily, smiling for no real reason.

"Why?" he asked.

"I wanna dance," I replied, smiling flirtatiously at Dylan.

He laughed, "I'll dance with you, with or without music."

I laughed carefree and kissed him on the cheek. Johnny started playing 'Love Me' by Frank Sinatra on the CD player. I smiled and wobbily stood from the couch, tugging Dylan up with me.

He put his hands on my waste and I put my hands and aching head on his chest. We swayed slowly to the music and I groggily sang along in a whisper. I closed my eyes, and deepened my face into his T-Shirt.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" I asked him quietly.

He drew me back to look at my face, but I hid my face in his shirt again. He stroked my hair and said, "You're the most beautiful girl in the world, honey."

"Do I sing good?" I asked.

He held me tighter and replied, "If the nightingales could sing like you, sing much sweeter than they do." He quoted a Frank Sinatra song, so I smiled.

"You gonna leave me?" I asked him.

I felt him shake his head. "Not s'long as you'll still want me 'round," then he kissed my head and winced a bit.

"You love me?" I slurred.

"More than anything," he replied. I closed my eyes but realized the song was over.

"C'mon sit down," I said tugging at his hand.

"Aw, you don't wanna dance no more?" he said.

I shook my head. "Nah, I wanna kiss you."

His eyes widened in delight and he grinned, grabbing me by the waist and hips, and pushing me down on the couch. He was laying on top of me, my legs bent up at his sides and he ran a hand along me; from my thigh, to my butt, to under my shirt, as we hungrily and sloppily made out.

I heard Johnny leave the room and help Matt eat pizza at our display and we continued touching and kissing. He slipped a hand up my shirt, and usually I would snap it away but tonight I didn't care. I just entwined my fingers in his thick, blonde hair and took in his smoke and liquor smell.

"Let's go to my room," he breathed heavily.

I nodded wearily, allowing him to lead me along. When we reached his room, he held me by my waist and butt, slowly making our way to the bed.

* * *

I woke up the next morning glued to Dylan's chest in a tight grip. I panicked, praying to God I did not have sex. I looked down, our pants were still there. I sighed in relief.

But my shirt wasn't. I lied in my bra, pressed against Dylan's bare chest. My eyes searched around the room frantically, locked in Dylan's hold.

The alarm clock said it was 7:58. My shirt was in a ball on the floor, and Dylan's was on the pillow beside him. I craned my neck to look at him. He was fast asleep, with his mouth slightly agape.

I began trying to gently untangle myself from him. It wasn't easy but I managed. I snatched my shirt off the floor and threw it on as quickly as possible. I felt exposed. I felt like an idiot. I quietly slipped out the door, making my way to the living room.

Matt was passed out on the couch with an empty pizza box across him. I looked around, but Johnny was nowhere to be seen. I put on my shoes, grabbed my phone and iPod off the side table and left, not stopping to wonder where Dylan's parents were.

I stumbled along the sidewalk, my legs still feeling like jello. I clutched my head in my hand, momentarily massaging my temples.

I turned my key in the lock and slipped into the living room, with gentle footsteps, hoping the house was still asleep. My dad's car was missing from the driveway, he probably stayed out and got more drunk.

Huh. Wait- just like me.

I sat down on the couch with my hands tucked under my chin and my brow furrowed, my eyes blankly concentrated on the opposite wall. I stayed like that for awhile.

I felt sick. Physically and mentally. My head was pounding so loud in my ears, for a moment, I thought it might wake Mom or Ella up.

Ella. Why can't I just be like her? She settles, yes- and that goes against everything I stand for. But at least she's happy. I just feel like a pathetic, lump of worthlessness. Suddenly, my stomach over turned.

I ran to the bathroom, and held back my hair as I vomited. Oh, memories. How many times had I been in this place before?

And why? Why do I do it? I don't know.

I walked from the bathroom, wiping my mouth on my sleeve after washing it out with water, when I heard someone stirring upstairs. Then _creak,creak, creak._

I made my way to the living room at the same time Ella reached the bottom step. Her eyes were tired, but she gave me a worried look. "You okay?" she asked, " I know you weren't here last night."

" I'm fine. Does Mom know I was out?"

She shook her head, walking in my direction then plopping down on the couch. "You're lucky. She stayed at the vet til late, then I guess she just went straight to bed."

I nodded.

She turned serious and looked me in the eye. "Max, don't you want to start over here? I mean, its the perfect opportunity to start from scratch."

"Why do you always assume I'm so unhappy? I'm fine. I was fine back home, I'm fine here," I snapped.

She melted a bit, but regained her confidence. "I don't assume, Max. I know. You know you're act isn't as fool-proof anymore. You act like you're having fun, you say you're fine. But you're faltering. You're coming undone."

I groaned, but she continued," Max, listen to me- Mom's worried about you, I'm worried about you. Fang even worries about you, I can tell."

I brought my head up from where they were buried in my hands, "Yeah, sure," I muttered.

"I see the way he looks at you. When you're lost in thought- when you got that focused look on your face, and your eyes are sad-"

"He barely even knows me!" I interrupted, "It's only been a few weeks!"

"But he looks at you like he's known you for years. He sees right through you."

I shook my head. Impossible, no one knew me. No one knew what I was thinking. My life was playing pretend. "This isn't a movie, Ella. No one cares about other people like that."

Ella shook her head sadly, " There's just no talking to you, is there?"

"Oh, boo-hoo," I hissed sarcastically," Go cry to your daddy, not to me."

She looked at me hurt, with tears forming in her eyes. " You know, for hating him as much as you do, you sure are alot like him! That same taste on your breath, you've been drinking. You're dad sure would be proud."

I sunk back in the cushion, numb. I had nothing to say.

It was silent for a moment, then in a hushed whisper Ella said, "I'm sorry."

I wanted to say 'Its fine.' I meant to. But somehow the words just wouldn't form on my lips, so I sat there. And sat there. Ella left to go back upstairs awhile ago, but I didn't know. I was concentrated, seemingly on nothing.

My life was empty. And at that moment I felt like anything but 'the most beautiful beautiful girl in the world.' Or loved. I was alone. Completely, and utterly alone. And my life was empty.

And as I sat there in my numbness, I tried to shake away the feeling that kept recurring in my mind. The feeling that, I wouldn't mind if I dropped over dead right there. But it was true. I just wouldn't care.


	10. The Winged Seraphs of Heaven

_I was crying. I nestled my head in his coat that smelled of shaving cream. I sniffled, and tilted my head up to look at him, and his stubble scratched my forehead._

_"But, I don't know why I just do everything wrong, Daddy. I don't mean to," I sniffled, tucking my head back under his chin to sob._

_"You never did anything wrong, shhh,"he murmered into my hair, rocking my body back and forth._

_"Nuh-uh. I must have. They always look at me funny and I don't know why. Like at recess-" I stopped, my lip quivering._

_"Like what, honey?" he asked._

_"Well, at recess, I just was lookin' at these worms with Zach. And, then, they just said I was gross and acted like a boy. And, then, they said I probably ate worms, and they all laughed. Even Zach laughed!" I sobbed, clutching onto the lapels of his coat._

_He looked down at me with his brown eyes warm. "But you don't eat worms, or do you?"_

_"No, I don't! That's gross!"_

_He chuckled, tipping back his head. I always imagined Santa Claus would probably laugh like him. "Then whattya got to worry about, huh?"_

_I jutted out my lower lip at him, and brought my eyebrows together. "Well, they're mean. And I don't know why," I replied._

_"Well, honey, they're jealous. Little girls get like that."_

_"But I don't get like that."_

_"Oh, you don't,huh? What about when Ella got the coloring book and you didn't," and he smiled at me knowing he caught me, and I lopsided smiled at him knowing he caught me._

_"But I don't have a coloring book that they don't. It don't make sense."_

_"People are different than you and I, right?"_

_I nodded grumpily. _

_"Well, those girls are just different than you. And there's people I have to work with that are different from me. And ya know what,bud? They don't make sense to me neither. But you know what?"_

_"What?" I asked, cocking my head to the side._

_"I just ride. Just ride with it, bud. You'll be the better person in the end. Got it?"_

_"Got it," I confirmed and nodded my head curtly. We sat there at the airplane-viewing area on the bench for awhile longer. I loved watching the airplanes, but this time, I just watched them. I didn't see them. Because as I sat curled up in my daddy's arms, I tried to figure out what he meant._

* * *

What had I become? Was the monster reigning my war-torn mind instigating a mirrored perspective in my soul?

As last resort, I was painting in my room. A landscape of the deserts and canyons beyond the horizons outside my window. My paintbrush danced across the canvas as I tried to quiet my thoughts, but they continued their battles despite my perseverance to ignore them. I, painting absent-mindedly, but an avatar for them to control.

Maybe I wasn't the good-hearted person I always claimed to be. But I had to make such a claim, it was all I had left. If I smoked a cigarette before a show; it's okay, I'm a good person. If I hurt Ella's feelings; it's okay, I'm a good person. If I'd get drunk and do something stupid; don't worry about it, as long as your heart's good.

Now, I'm nothing.

I longed for the lazy days of yesteryear's summers. Those oblivious backyard days with my dad. We shared popsicle grins. We shared stories under the oak tree, and he'd suggest classic literature that I never knew of as an 8 year old, but at 16 have read and cherish on the highest place on my bookshelf. We shared glasses of sweet tea. We shared Don McLean with the radio. We shared our dreams.

A tear rolled down my cheek in sync with a drop of paint. I furrowed my brow angrily at my thoughts. How dare they control me and make me cry? Why can't they just leave me alone?

I yearned for my innocence. I yearned freedom of innocence that can't be found but in the wild winds of youth.

My dad told me to live in the now. To look upon the past as fondly as possible, for its the only way we can, but don't fall in love with it. Because there's a second paramour we have yet to meet; we just have to get up in the morning and meet it. It's the present.

"That's why they call it present, because it's a gift," he said matter-of-factly behind his Sunday paper.

"_Oh._ That makes sense," I nodded.

And right now I'd love nothing more but to sit down with him under the oak tree, because I know he would have the answers that are making my mind a war-zone, that I have yet to take belligerence in.

Because, Dad, what if the present isn't a gift? What if it's just an ugly reality that I get drunk for? What if, Dad? What if I wasn't your soldier anymore? What if I just wasn't strong enough, because I rely on cigarettes and alcohol and your haunting memory to make me cope with this ugly reality? What if I knew it was all my fault, I just didn't know how to change it?

I was sobbing now, and my paintbrush tore its way through the canvas in riotous circles. And like the tyrant it was, my mind had taken control of the hand holding my paintbrush and turned my landscape portrait into an unidentifiable work of abstract brush strokes.

I tied my hair up in a sloppy bun, rolled up my sleeves and continued painting at the same pace my furious tears raced down my face.

Because I don't, Dad. And I am weak. And I'm tired. I'm tired of acting like I'm not, I'm tired of looking for my freedom like its the Fountain of Youth, I'm tired of relying on music and poetry and nicotine and alcohol and drive-by love and pictures to keep who I used to be not just a blurry dream. I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy.

With each word my mind spoke, my strokes became more violent. I screamed out and threw the carton of paint that was placed in my eisel at my hiddeous work of art.

And I'm sorry, Dad. I know life is wonderful, even though it's not always good. Because you said that. But my life is a mess, Dad. I'm a mess, and everyone would honestly be better off without me. Do I still I have to get up in the morning and fall in love with today, Dad?

I flung the paint at the canvas like the crazy person I was. I scrubbed my hands in circular motions discarding whatever sanity that could be found on the portrait.

You said life should be made into a work of art, Dad. Well, here's mine.

I stepped back away from the canvas as if it were a monster. I panted briefly, holding my hands on my head, whatever tears I had left in my tear ducts, silently straying down my cheeks.

I'm all out of answers. Send me something to help face today. You have to send me an angel.

My knees were weak, and I leaned against the wall for support, falling to the floor. I had no sanity anymore. I am my only God now, I knew. I sat on my floor, staring blindly at the floorboards.

It wasn't until I was deep in the webs of my subconscious that I heard the door slam, followed by incoherent, brief conversation and footfalls on the stairs.

2 knocks on my door. "Max?" Ella's voice asked.

I'm not here, my mind said but my lips couldn't keep up.

She creaked open the door, "Max, I-" she stopped when her eyes fell on me. Under her eyes' spotlight I felt like an idiot. A fool being silently tormented under the judgemental audience's mockery.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, when a pair of blue eyes and a blonde head of hair appeared behind her. It was a little girl, with an older boy version of herself behind her, except the boy had curlier hair.

Ella turned her attention to them, and she tried ushering them downstairs, probably so she could have a talk with me. But this little girl, in a white sundress with little blue flowers on it, wouldn't allow it. She pushed past Ella, her wide, blue eyes glued to me with the most piqued curiousity. Ella stared dumbfounded as her trials of grabbing the girl's arm failed, as the girl strolled across the room to my broken place in the corner, a small smile forming on her sweet, porcelain face.

When she reached me, she plopped down beside me. "Hello," she said.

"Hi," I replied lamely.

"I'm Angel," she smiled warmly, her eyes as bright and welcoming as the first days of spring.

"I'm Max."

"I know," she chirped, shifting herself to study me more carefully. She paused. "You're pretty. But you're hair is stuck to your face 'cause of your tears," she continued brushing my hair aside for me, as if we hadn't just met moments before.

"Thanks," I smiled weakly. "You're beautiful yourself, but, uh, why'd Ella bring you here?" I asked, glancing to Ella, but instead finding an empty doorway. She must have led the boy back downstairs.

"She's babysitting me and Gazzy. But I'm not a baby, they just call it that. I'm 6, almost 7 in 8 months," she replied.

"Gazzy? That's your brother?" I asked, pointing in the direction of the door.

She nodded, making her blonde hair's soft mermaid curl bounce. "Him and Iggy are always doing stupid stuff together, like stink-bombs and stuff," she giggled.

"Wait- is Iggy your brother, too?"

"Yep- Ya'know, my mommy grounds me if I color on the walls," she said pointing to splatters of paint on the wall.

I smiled at her, "And my mommy is gonna yell at me too if I don't clean it up."

"Well, you better then."

"I will, I promise."

"That's a pretty picture you made, though."

"Liar," I laughed.

"Huh? Nuh-uh, it is pretty! I like the colors, its real sloppy."

"And sloppy is good?"

She shrugged. "Sloppy is pretty."

"A beautiful mess, huh?"

She nodded. "Mommy's don't like messes, though. Neither do teachers. Like Mrs. Taylor. She's always yellin' at me," she said exasperated.

"My teachers yell at me too. What does Mrs. Taylor yell at you for?"

"Well, I just try to tell Emily a joke or somethin', and she goes," and Angel put a finger on her lips and hissed sharply, "Shhhh!"

I laughed. Then, I realized how real of a laugh it was. I looked down upon the blonde genesis of my laughter with a smile, and her eyes brightened.

"And then one time-" she began excitedly but was interrupted by the boy's voice in the doorway.

"Angel! C'mon! Twister or Chutes 'n Ladders downstairs," he said racing back down the stairs.

Angel hopped up and extended a hand to me. "C'mon, Max!"

I took her small hand graciously, and replied," I have to clean up first."

"Then you'll come down and play?"

I nodded and she raced down the stairs as I headed for the bathroom.

I begrudgingly faced my reflection that I had been avoiding lately. I looked as much of a mess as I had acted. With my hair and clothes disheveled, paint splatters on my skin and clothes, and tear stains all over my face. Angel must really be an angel, I thought, for having the heart to trust _this_.

Any normal mortal would recognize my insanity and run for the hills in terror. But this sweet little girl took me under her wing, probably even without her knowledge.

After I cleaned myself and my room up, I headed downstairs and was greeted with a chirpy, "Max!" from Angel who sat kneeled in a circle of Ella, Gazzy, and herself. They were crowded around Chutes 'n Ladders and Ella was setting up. "We're playing Chutes 'n Ladders!" she exclaimed patting a spot on the floor next to her.

I sat down and gave Ella a smile who had been eyeing me warily. She offered a small smile in return.

After we played Chutes 'n Ladders, we played tag all around the house. Then, we watched the Fox and the Hound at Angel's request and little Gazzy fell asleep in Ella's lap and she stroked his hair idly as she began to doze off herself.

Then Iggy's mom came by to pick them up. Angel gave me a long hug goodbye. I told her mom that anytime she wanted, I could watch them.

Leave it to the blind innocence of children to lend wisdom to the elder. Angel made me realize alot of things. She quenched my nostalgic thirst for yesteryear. She made me feel better than any cigarette or amount of alcohol ever could.

And that night, I fell asleep easy. And sent up a silent prayer:

Thanks, Dad.

* * *

**So I realized only after I wrote this that i had Linkin park's numb music video in mind. Weird huh?**

**Review, please?**


	11. I've Been Waiting For You All My Life

**Disclaimer: i own nothing. Not nizlopi. not their song. Nothing.**

* * *

**Fang's POV**

I flicked my eyes, hopefully unnoticeably, from my paper to Max or from the board to Max or from the clock to Max. She was always distant, her eyes always far off; I knew, like me, she dreamed of running away. But today, it was different. She didn't even bother to act like she was here.

She smiled at me when she walked through the door with her backpack slung over her shoulder, and sat down beside me swiftly. I asked her if she did her homework and she just shook her head, like it was unimportant; like there was a bigger task at hand that she was focusing on, but she was just sitting there, studying the opposite wall.

After a number of monosyllabic responses, I decided to give her a break. After all, I understood her; even if there were plenty of gears in her head whose processing baffled me. After all, she was like me. Time alone equaled time to think. Time to gather information, time to assess the situation. Those who talking over hearing ratio is equivalent, are cognizant of things that others aren't. Max tells me its hard for her to find friends because she's cerebral. She makes me laugh.

As Mrs. Robinson preached monotonously at the front of the class, I entered my own dream world, trying to figure out how Max's pretty, little mind worked. Maybe she was thinking about Paris. She had mentioned briefly how she had always wanted to go there. Maybe she was thinking about a book she had read, or a song she loved to listen to. Maybe she was thinking that I was right, that she should quit smoking because it _is_ disgusting.

She was biting her lip with her hand folded under her chin, when she glanced over at me. Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile but she was too busy. I offered a small half-smile. I expected her to drift back into her mind's eye, but instead she ripped a corner of a piece of paper and scribbled down on it, then passed it over to me without the teacher noticing.

_What about those guitar lessons you promised?_

I smiled and jotted down a quick reply.

_I haven't forgot. You could come over to my house today if you want._

_Ok. We're walking_, she wrote.

I read it and sent her a 'Ugh' look and she giggled, then covered her mouth. But it was a little too loud.

Mrs. Robinson snapped, "Max, what do you think the author meant through the merry-go-round metaphor?"

Max nonchalantly replied, " That life is a continuous, monotonous circle."

Mrs. Robinson waved her hand for Max to continue.

"And that even though we grow to be boring, old adults there we always be the innocence of children with energy we can feed off of."

"Feed off of? Thats a harsh conotation," Mrs. Robinson remarked.

"Well, its kinda a harsh concept. Children keep adults alive and human. I think the world would simply be reality without kids," she spoke softly, taking delicate pauses to collect all her thoughts.

"Simply reality?" Mrs. Robinson asked, urging her to go on. Mrs. Robinson was often bitter, but she had grown on Max in a way. I think it was because of how brilliant she was when she 'fussed with words', as Max put it.

Max nodded. " Adults have life experience, that's rid away at them. Their imagination, their yearning for something greater. When that's gone, you got reality. Kids add a silver lining to the otherwise dull void."

"You have a way with words, Max," Mrs. Robinson smiled, " Now, if you could try to reflect that in your efforts to pay attention."

I snickered as Max just offered her a small smile.

* * *

We walked along the sidewalk home, well to my home. I sideways looked at her, a smile evident on my features, despite my efforts to remain emotionless.

"C'mon, why else would your name be Fang?" Max asked.

"Max, I promise you- I'm not a freakin' vampire."

She looked at me doubtfully. "Well, then...is it something sexual?"

"What? God, no, Max! Jesus..."

"Well, what am I supposed to think? Your teeth aren't significantly sharp. Do you bite people when they're not looking...?"

"Oh, look! Here's my house!" I said, to get her to shut up. She followed me down the driveway and I opened the garage and headed to the door, holding it open for Max. But she was caught in a daze, gazing at my dad's old motorcycle.

"Holy freakin' hell. This is wicked beast! Who's is this?" she exclaimed.

"Uh, my dad's. Are you into motorcycles or something?" I asked.

"Well, I mean- it's not like... Well, I mean- can I touch it?" she asked.

"That's what she said," I muttered, making Max crack a smile.

"Oh, c'mon. You know what this is, right?"

"Yeah, its a motorcycle, Max. I thought I was gonna teach you guitar-"

"This is a Regina Horex 350. Its vintage. Dude, your dad must be awesome."

"Well, actually he hasn't rode it since I known him. He always used to say he would, and he'd take me on the back with him- but he never has. He gets caught up easily."

Max nodded, and admired the motorcycle. "C' mon," I said and she followed me upstairs. As we entered the familiarly quiet and empty living room, Max asked,

"Is anybody here?"

I shook my head as I flipped on the living room light switch, "My parents are at work."

"Any pets?"

"No, just me and my parents."

"What do your parents do?"

"Uh, my dad's a lawyer. Mom's a tax collector," I replied, scratching the back of my head feeling awkward.

"Your dad's a lawyer? What's he like?" she asked, taking off her shoes and curling her legs up in an armchair.

I grabbed Cokes from the refrigerator for the both of us and sat opposite her, handing her one. I smirked, "Don't get excited. He's no Atticus Finch. He's like the lawyers in reality. Boring."

She sank back a little, she must have really had Atticus Finch in mind. "Huh. Well, he's got a motorcycle. He must not be all boring."

"Yeah, a motorcycle he never has ridden," I countered, taking a swig of Coke.

"What about you? You have your driver's license."

"Oh, no. Not me."

"Why not?"

I tried to answer but I was stumped. I shrugged, "Well... It'd be pretty stupid to drive a motorcycle before you drive anything else."

"Well, I've driven quads tons of times and they're easy."

"Yeah, and quads are motorcycles for wusses," I chuckled and she laughed in agreement.

"Let's go to your room, I wanna see your guitar," she said, hopping up then pulling me up off the couch.

I sighed and headed upstairs with Max in tow. When we entered my room, Max said,"See, I knew you were a vampire!"

My room is black with black curtains. So what?

"Ooooh- Nice," she remarked, tapping a Pink Floyd poster. She roamed about the room with her hands behind her back, like it was her job to mezmorize very inch as I just watched by the door.

"You like James Taylor? Me too," she said going through my CD's, as she continued to act like she owned the place I grabbed my guitar, sat on the bed and began to strum.

She spun around at the sound, smiled at me and plopped down beside me, watching me play. "Do you care to learn?" I asked.

"Play me a song first," she said and I was taken back.

"Okay...What song?"

She paused in thought, then shrugged. "Whatever you want."

"Okay...Uh, do I sing too?"

Her eyes widened. "You sing?" she shook my shoulder excited, "Sing! Sing!"

I took a deep breath. There was nearly no one else I would do this for. Actually no one else. And I didn't know why I was about to do this for Max, except because I knew she was different.

I began to strum, as Max listened intently by my side and then I opened my mouth to sing.

_Darling, I've been waiting for you_

_All my life_

_Crossed towns and hills and rivers for you_

_All my life_

_And I'm wandering in the dark now_

_'Cause I'm searching for you still_

_And my heart is longing to walk up this hill_

_I really can't pull out the thorn, love_

_All my life _

_And not having you pressed to my chest_

_All my life_

_And this storm is playing out now _

_On this painful world stage _

_Of all our incompleteness and the wars we wage_

_So won't you come here?_

_'Cause it's written on my hand_

_I want to print it on your body, print it on your body_

_Your love makes me a different man_

_Put soul in my body, put soul into me_

_I'm drinking Evion from your lips, darling _

_Evion from your palms, _

_I wanna drink Evion from your lips_

_Evion from your lips, darling_

_Drinking Evion from your lips, darling_

_Evion from your palms, I wanna drink Evion, Evion_

_Singin' songs of love like gettin' jolly_

_All my life_

_And we'll find the truth out finally_

_The heart of our lives_

_And your love is my beauty, we need to make it through_

_So please walk beside me in all I do_

_Won't you come here?_

_Evion on your lips, darling_

_Evion from your palms, I wanna drink_

_Evion from your lips, darling, evion from your palms_

_I wanna drink Evion, Evion_

_'Cause its written on my hand _

_I'll print it on your body, print it on your body, yeah_

_Your love makes me a different man_

_Put soul in my body, put soul into me_

_I'm drinking Evion from your lips, darling_

_Evion from your palms, I wanna drink _

_Evion, Evion_

I finished singing and looked down embarrassed, when Max threw her arms around my neck.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a freaking genius?" she exclaimed.

I laughed, scratching the back of my head bashfully, disheveling my hair and replied,

"No one knows."

* * *

**Yeah, this chapter was pretty silly. Its one of those silly days. I don't know.**

**The song was Nizlopi's "All My Life". Does anyone know the book they were talking about in Maxs English class with the merry-go-round?**

**:) Leaving a review would be cool, even if you're like, 'Wow, man. This story sucks!' Yeah, I dare you to do that Mr. Anonymous guest. Haha not really. I'll cry.**


	12. To Fill the Silence

**Fang POV**

"Morning," I muttered to my parents as I stumbled to the refrigerator. Mom was perched at the island, hypnotized by her laptop behind her glasses. The screen's glow added shadows around her concentrated features, making her look even more severe. As I brushed past her to the cabinets, she stopped twirling her spoon in small circles in her coffee and looked over her shoulder at me.

I raised a brow at her and she said, " Who's jacket is that?" nodding to a purple jacket hanging at the bottom of the stairs' railing.

"Oh, that's my friend's. She must've left it," I muttered, taking it off the railing and folding it over my backpack so I could remember to give it back to Max.

"Did you ask to invite some girl over?" my mom asked, her voice traced with no emotion, she remained in a trance at her screen.

"Uh, I figured- I invite friends over all the time."

She sighed deeply and massaged her temples. I mumbled, "Sorry, I'll ask next time."

My dad came around the corner in his suit, my mom muttered, "You're running late."

He replied, "I know," and he grabbed a mug of coffee and his car keys off the counter and with a small salute of goodbye, disappeared behind the front door.

"I should be going too," I said and threw my backpack over my shoulder and put Max's jacket under my arm. That's when they fell on the kitchen floor. Max's cigarettes.

My mom glanced over to see what fell and she did a double take. She hopped up and snatched them up off the floor, she looked from the pack of cigarettes to me in my frozen place of indecision then her hand whipped across my face.

I looked down, the burning on my cheek telling me I should be ashamed of myself. "What the hell is wrong with you? Smoking cigarettes like some piece of trash?" she barked.

For some reason, I was frozen- my lips were frozen and some part of me was screaming, 'Theyre not mine' and another part kept shut, feeling as though it would be betraying Max. So I stayed there, under my mom's icy glare.

"We'll talk about this when you get home," she said, throwing the pack of cigarettes in the garbage. "Get out of my sight," she said, waving me away.

I shut the door behind me, to see Iggy waiting for me at the curb in his mom's minivan. I hopped in passenger seat and looked over my shoulder to find Ella and Nudge giggling behind us. "Where's Max?"

"Dylan picked her up," Ella said, and quickly returned to her conversation with Nudge.

Iggy said in a RuPaul voice, "Sounds juicy, girls," he paused and returned to his normal voice, "but could you please shut up?" Ella and Nudge only giggled more in response.

Iggy glanced over at me, "Dude, you okay?"

I nodded in response and stared out the window, clutching onto Max's jacket in my lap.

When we pulled up at school, I saw Max walking with Dylan and two other guys. I watched her laugh, and Dylan put his arm around her shoulders. My hand clenched slightly around her jacket.

Iggy followed my gaze and said, "I don't know why she hangs out with those losers. C'mon, let's go."

We got out of the car, and Max caught my stare and she stopped and waved. I held up her jacket a bit for her to see. She smiled and headed over. I noticed when she began our way, Dylan quickly said a goodbye and turned around.

"Hey, thanks," she said, taking her jacket.

My jaw was clenched, but I tried a smile and she quickly took notice. "What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes wide and sincere.

I loosened my grimace and shook my head, "Nothin'. It was a, uh, rough morning."

"Why?" she asked as we walked. The others set into place behind us.

"Well, I told you, you shouldn't smoke."

She furrowed her brow. "What's -"

"And your cigarettes fell out of your pocket. My mom thinks I smoke."

Her face fell. "Oh. I- I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell her they weren't yours?"

I shrugged. "She'll forget about this anyway."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Nothin'. Just don't worry about it," I replied.

"Okay. I am sorry, Fang," she searched my eyes, for anger or forgiveness.

I nodded. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

I came home to the empty house again after school. I did my homework. I heated up the dinner my mom left for me. I strummed my guitar in my room. I took a shower. I went to bed.

When I woke up, it was the same. We tossed around 'Good morning's at each other, then headed our separate ways.

I waited for her to scream. I wanted her to scream. But silence was all there ever was, and this silence was strangling me. I just wanted to feel something.

But I knew this would happen. I was right- she'd just forget. They always forget. Or maybe, they just don't bother to remember.

* * *

**Max POV**

Sunday. The Lord's Day. My daddy wasn't particularly religious, he wasn't _particularly_ anything; maybe that's why he seemed to know something about everything. He kept a Bible in his glove compartment, and though it wasn't his favorite literature, he told me he read it when his head got heavy. And as a kid, I tried to pray like he did but I was always dumbfounded on what to say; I didn't want to sound stupid to the creator of life.

And now, not much has changed as I bowed my head with my church in prayer. I folded my hands under my chin with my elbows on my knees and thought about anything irrelevant.

I looked out of the corner of my eye at my parents' interlocked hands and scowled. I glanced at Ella beside me, and rolled my eyes at her perfection. Her hair was pinpoint straight, her legs together and aligned parallel in her cerulean ballet flats. Her skirt met her knees just right and flowed onto the pew at her sides, with her hands, just as neat, steepled under her chin.

She opened her eyes, along with everyone else, and straightened. I assumed the preacher gave permission to stop praying, but I hadn't heard. Ella's eyes landed on me and she furrowed her brow like, 'What are you looking at freak?' so I turned my body straight ahead again with a sigh.

I gave a minimal effort to pay attention, or at least pretend I was, but a cloud passed by in my peripheral and my mind drifted into open space. Peculiar, how that happens. Before I knew it I was back home. I walked along the tranquil _swoosh_-ing of the creek's shallow tides, along the beaten path. The crisp, fresh air of the surrounding bark filled my head, and the familiar sound of leaves crunching beneath my sneakers echoed every step my mind took. I was at the horse farm, now. The owners never minded Ella and I admiring their horses from outside the wooden fences, even though we were still on their property.

Those horses simply shined, I thought, leaning against the fence. Even when they roamed under the shade of trees, they glimmered with an inner- freedom. They boasted about with a confidence that no one could take that freedom away, their spirit was alive and the wooden fences weren't boundaries, but a challenge.

I caught myself smiling out the window, and shook myself from my imagination.

This preacher guy loves to talk. I watched how his ears would rise whenever he said a long 'A'. His polo shirt was buttoned all the way up, and I momentarily wondered if his Adam's apple hurt like that. Suddenly he grinned and creases around his eyes and mouth turned upwards and people laughed; he must've said a joke. My family smiled at him and my stepdad laughed. Talk about fake.

Familiar faces from school were all about the room. Mostly tolerable people, because the richer people were often more intolerable and they lived down the highway. There was this pale kid with greasy hair, who always looked like he wanted to punch somebody. There was a quiet red-headed girl who, I noticed, has alot of the same shoes as me. A bulky-headed kid who I knew from German class was seated in the 2nd to last row with his family. I never heard his voice before,but I didn't care to either.

This just got boring-er and boring-er, I thought with an airy sigh.

Ella had pointed out Fang and his family and Iggy and his family when we walked in, but now they we were at the front and I couldn't see them. It was a shame, because I could've poked them or something. But instead, for the rest of the sermon, I studied the clouds out the long rectangular windows and made a mental list of the pros and cons of wearing a dress.

So far, I could only think of 1 pro: you didn't have to wear pants. I was deciding whether the fact that dresses make you want to twirl was a pro or con when Ella shook my shoulder. I looked up to see people piling out the doors and shaking hands with the preacher.

I stood up and pulled my sundress down and tried to make returning the blood to my butt look subtle. My stepdad waited at the end of the pew for all of us to get out and when I did, he placed a hand on my back which I instictively shook off. He sent me a look that said, 'Don't make me look bad' as we approached the preacher shaking hands and talking with people at the door.

My stepdad shook his hand with both hands and a too-happy grin. I grimaced as the preacher's eyes twinkled at him, and suddenly they landed on me. He stuck out his hand to me and I froze, then quickly acted like I was distracted by something outside and pushed past my family to the fresh air. Under a big tree, Angel, Gazzy, Iggy, and Fang were playing. I took off my shoes and ran over smiling.

Although it was October, it was awfully hot. The gravel parking lot sparkling with beamers and rims even seemed to be fanning itself off with the clouds of smoke rolling off it. Angel ran over, her dress swaying in sync with her curls, and hugged my legs. "Hi Max!" she greeted cheekily, beginning a chorus of echoes from behind her.

"Sup," I said to all of them, but I was looking at Fang who mirrored me, adding a lopsided smile.

"You couldn't brush your hair even for God, Max?" Iggy scorned, " My mom never lets me wear my tuxedo shirt to church, but you can look like that?" He finished with a laugh, and I deepened my glare. As I turned my attention to Angel tugging at my skirt, I could've sworn I heard him mutter 'Woo, I'm funny.'

"Max! I got a 100% on my spelling test," Angel said with pride.

"Good job, bud," I said, offering a low-five. She slapped my hand with all her might, scrunching up her nose, and skipped away to her mom and dad.

"You always call her that," Fang muttered. I didn't know if it was to me or to himself. His eyes were following Angel as she pranced around in her ruffles, and a ghost of a smile adorned his face. He had on blue jeans and the same short sleeved, black button-up shirt he had worn to my performance. I thought he must be hot, especially under his black hair that was growing into a mop.

"What?" I asked, squinting at him in the sun.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and let his smile grow. "Bud?"

"Wha- Oh. Yeah, so?" I hadn't realized before, but I mimicked my dad alot when I was with Angel. My dad would always call me 'bud'.

When I can't fall asleep, sometimes, I still hear him, " Hey bud, whatcha say we head on down to Fowler's Lake? Grab the rods," or "I'll be back to you soon, bud. Keep that head up," or "It's not time to worry yet, bud. When I get back home you can worry."

Fang shrugged. "Usually it's princess or sweetie or somethin'... 'Bud'. Bud sounds more fitting."

"Well, alright then," I declared as we dragged our bodies across the church yard. There was a little picket sign stuck in the dirt that read, _God's Garden_. I furrowed my brow at the script. The stray patches of overgrown weeds wasn't much of a garden to me, but I guess that's God's business.

My mom and stepdad were waiting in the car, I suppose, allowing us time to mingle. Ella and Iggy were laughing by a tree while Gazzy sat beneath them in the shade, pulling grass out of the ground. Iggy's parents stood by the car, looking to be in no hurry. Angel's dad was swinging Angel's arms playfully, and she was cracking up at him.

After we said goodbye, I stood in the shade a bit to watch Fang go. He walked to a sleek, black Mercedes Benz in the corner of the gravel lot. The car didn't seem to fit here, and neither did the owners- Fang's parents, I assumed. The women was pretty, but tired-looking and the man was handsome, but didn't look like Fang. Fang's face was much softer, not feminine but softer and more kind- this man looked so serious and severe, with a pointed chin and chiseled jaw. He didn't look like he'd ride a motorcycle, maybe a SmartCar.

Fang disappeared behind the tinted windows of the backseat, and the car _varoom_-ed out of sight down the narrow road. As I followed Ella to the car, there was inexplainable feeling in my chest. Sympathy? I couldn't define it, but didn't like it- and it was all Fang's fault.


	13. Burning Desire

**Disclaimer: i own nothing. Not lana del reys song. Thats hers. The characters are jp's.**

**WARNING: Cliché poems!**

* * *

It was all so strange to me. So sudden. It had occurred to me at midnight, as if my tired mind desperately seeking to slip into dreamland had spelled it out for me. I had been lonely my whole life, I knew. But now that I had such good friends like Fang, I realized just how lonely I was.

Looking back now, it seems like I was in limbo all those years. A long corridor to reach where I am now.

Because I had realized something. Fang was the highlight of my day. He made me happier than I ever have been, or at least can remember being. He didn't even have to do much, his presence was enough. It was comforting, it was warm; something I've never known before. And this new feeling lifted me up to heights I've never been.

I don't know how it happened. He's just a 17 year old boy with moppy dark hair that plays guitar and has a wonderful voice that he hardly uses. He'd tell you it takes alot to make him smile, but in reality, a sunny day or laughing little kid will make, at least, his heart smile.

He doesn't like ice cream. His favorite color is black. And he's been saving up for a car since February. He was a born on the 21st. He cares alot more about school and grades than he'd let you know. He has the eyes of a puppy dog when he's sad, and the eyes of a junkyard dog when he's mad- but he won't get mad too often. His head is always bouncing around with clichés. His best friend is Maximum Ride.

Yeah, I dont know how it happened. But I realized I needed him, in some form. Because if I peeled the layers away from my soul, if I admitted it to myself, he was all I had- the only real _good _I could wake up to and know would be there.

But I also knew something else down in the pit of me. I knew he would leave eventually. They all go eventually. And when Fang did, I'd be so lonely. Even lonesomer now that I realized how lonely I was.

And you know, if anyone has somebody like this in their lives, they should stop and thank them. Someone who's energy is powerful enough to make a mark. And if somebody has that energy, they should be grateful they radiate beauty.

Some people don't have to worry about trivial things like looks and social graces because they radiate beauty.

Take James Taylor, for instance. He is , arguably, not the sexiest man alive. However, when I watch him sing 'Shower the People' live, I can't help but smile and even shed a tear maybe a little bit. Like James Taylor, you just gotta love Fang.

He's genuine, pure, and sincere. And you can see it in his eyes, his smile. He gets back to the core of what humanity was meant to be, regardless of what or who put us here.

I'm not beautiful enough to leave such a mark and its a shame because it leaves me in the dust. I can't go back, and change my ways so I could become something that shines. No, I'm just a shady streetwalker that smells of cigarette smoke.

There's only been one other person I've wanted to give the world to and that's my mom. Something about Fang- that I can't put my finger on and it drives me crazy- makes me want to hand over the world to him. But all I have to give him is myself and that's hardly worth hanging around for. Yeah, he doesn't know just how lonesome he'll make me when he goes.

How much I love, how passionately I feel every emotion terrifies me. My caged-in heart yearned for open air once, that turned into a deadly obsession with freedom that's lured me into the clutches of trouble on too many occasions. I love so much I would kill for them; but up until now love has only applied to family.

Now that Fang's here, I do love him no matter how hard I try to shake it. What if this love turns into a burning desire? Or is it already?

To feel the way I do, then have something you feel so passionately about torn from you so abruptly - I'm afraid I'll go numb and turn into a puddle of nothingness.

* * *

" I suck at this," I muttered, frustratedly at my guitar. Fang came over to my house after school for another guitar lesson and I wasn't making much progress.

"You do suck. But I sucked, too, at first," he said with a smile. I rolled my eyes at him and practiced the chords he had showed me and he said, "That song you sang at the theatre- Ride- you wrote that, didn't you?"

I nodded, wondering why he was bringing that up.

"You write anything else?"he asked.

"Songs?" I said, and he shrugged. Suddenly my face heated with a blush. "Poems, that could be songs."

He nodded, "Like Bob Dylan's songs?"

I smiled, "I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

He traced the calluses on his fingers with his thumb and then turned his knee to face me. Watching his hands, he said, "I could come up with music to them on my guitar."

I wondered why he seemed so nervous about it, and replied, "Good idea, sounds cool. They're not very, good though, my poems."

"Let me see 'em."

I deliberately scrambled for my journal across the room, it was my turn to be nervous. "Don't make fun. Don't judge."

Fang laughed. "C'mon, Max. You act like I have high expectations."

I glared at him and opened up to a poem that I thought was one of my better ones.

He read it to himself:

~I'm fed up with fussing with words

On a lonely page

Confessing my love to mend my mind's

Endless wars we wage

All I want is you

And I've had it up to here

With staying away

Smiling, laughing with a line in-between

Of unsaid words to say

All I want is you

You brighten my sky

Your presence makes my day

You could make me cry

The beautiful things you say

All I want is you

Its not good for me, I know

Love more than I can bear

When your gone my ghost's body

Will rock-a-bye with tears

All I want is you

I'm devoted so honestly, I know

This love I have you can't return

But there's still one thing

Us lonely yearn

All I want is you

If you're crying when you're alone

If your heart needs a loving home

Always know you're not on your own

All I want is you

If the world's too much to bear

I could catch all your tears

And hold you for a million years

All I want is you

And maybe if you're feeling warm

Wrapped up in my arms

You could play me a song on your guitar

All I want is you

And if you've turned black and blue

From pacing down lonely avenues

Let me lend some loving love to you

All I want is you

All I want is you~

"Max, I'm making music to this. Right now."

* * *

Fang's POV

Saturday night meant Max singing at Old Paul's. I sat in the back by myself today, after the first and second time the others seemed to get bored but I would always be piqued.

I noticed Dylan was here too. He has been here every night for Max too. Actually, probably for the alcohol. I didn't like him. He gave me a bad feeling around Max, and it wasn't just because I was feeling 'those' feelings for her. He was trouble for her, he caused problems and worries. Max didn't need that.

She needed to stop smoking and being so stupid because she was so brilliant. I tried to explain it to her but she laughed and called me dumb. Typically. But the message got across, she hasn't smoked for awhile.

She said withdrawal wasn't too awful because she was never entirely addicted. Just on and off all the time. I think the 'war in my mind' lyrics in her song is very true, and I wish I could take her worries away.

I pulled my black leather windbreaker closer around me in anxiousness, and remembered how I wore it because I knew Max liked it.

The microphone buzzed with a voice of the owner, and my head whipped up to the stage. Max was up. I leaned back, trying not to look too intrigued.

She floated out on stage in a long, white dress. What shocked me was her stark, red lipstick. It wouldn't usually fit her, but tonight it seemed to. It was quite... alluring.

She seemed daring tonight, and I wondered if the lipstick made her feel that way. Even her long, dark eyelashes seemed dangerous. She had a deadly charm, and her fire in her eyes behind the microphone could kill men. A femme fetal.

_Every Saturday night I get dressed up to ride for you, baby_

_Cruising down the street on Hollywood and Vine for you, baby_

_I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits cause I just don't care_

_You ask me where I've been?_

_I been everywhere_

_I don't wanna be no where but here_

_Come on tell me boy_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits cause I just don't care_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire for you_

_Every Saturday night I seem to come alive for you, baby_

_Santa Monica, I'm racing in the lights for you, baby_

_I drive fast, radio blares, have to touch myself to pretend you're there_

_Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips_

_ you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits cause I just don't care_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it_

_I'm trying to get to you, baby_

_I'm feeling scared and you know it_

_I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it_

_I'm trying to get to you, baby_

_I'm feeling scared and you know it_

_I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it_

_I'm trying to get to you, baby_

_I'm feeling scared and you know it_

_I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it_

_I'm trying to get to you, baby_

_I'm feeling scared and you know it_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

_I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits cause I just don't care_

_I got a burning desire for you, baby_

_I got a burning desire_

I slipped back stage with my red roses in my hand. She had mentioned she liked them best if she had to pick, she said she didn't care how cliché it was. She didn't know, but I hung onto every word and remembered every detail.

Her vanity was empty, so I thought it'd be mysterious if I just left the roses there. Max liked mysteries. But there was already a bouquet there. A dozen white roses with a note next to it:

_For my American Beauty Rose._

_-Dylan_

He sure thought he was clever with the Frank Sinatra quotes and allusions, didn't he? Well, he didn't know she liked red roses not white.

I set down the roses next to the white and jotted down a note on a spare piece of paper I ripped off a nearby pamphlet.

_Deep in your eyes_

_I saw a_ _ring of fire_

_White's nice_

_But red is burning desire_

-_Fang_

* * *

**Poems! Crappiness for rhyming's sake.**


	14. Ice Cream Man

Hey, thanks for reviewing, reading, following, favoriting, breathing very much! I love you all, you too Mr. anonymous guest...

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

* * *

It was peculiar. Strange, maybe even absurd. My roses were in a vase on my side table, now crinkling up and fading away. But the notes were still intact, though out of sight. Out of sight because if Ella or my mom saw them they would jump to conclusions and if Fang came over and saw them, he would think that I took his joke seriously.

It was just a joke- his silly note- but it made me... I don't know, feel something that made me want to dance around. Don't get me wrong, I knew, for this reason, the note was lethal. Silly fairytales and daydreams of perfection lead to inevitable disaster. But something in me made me keep it. And that same something made me keep Dylan's note with it.

I laughed softly, shaking my head at Fang's awful excuse for rhyme scheme. I decided avert my mind, and tucked the notes away. It was the only sentiment given to me, I couldn't help but be disgustingly sentimental about it.

Fang and I hadn't been seeing each as often. He got a job at UDF from 4-9 and classes changed and we don't have any together, not lunch either. It was a week since I saw his face, and I caught myself missing him and I immediately scorned myself. A clingy best friend who has a crush on them? Oh, God- what have I become?

I texted him once or twice but he doesn't always reply. It gets lonely. And now I'm stuck because he dropped a 'fall in love with me' bomb on me unintentionally with the note and then I don't interact with him for weeks. Exactly as I always knew it would go. My life - it sucks.

But I've remained my usual optimistic go-lucky self. Watching Walking Dead re-runs and Sherlock on Netflix over and over while stuffing my face with junk food by day, then sneaking out and getting drunk by night. Yay.

While Fang's living the life at UDF scooping up ice cream for people. I stopped in my tracks- it was 4: 30. That meant Fang was on his shift, and I could just walk to UDF. Thats it! Or would that be too weird and clingy? Nah, I reassured myself, friends can do that.

I shoved my feet into my Chucks and headed out to UDF.

* * *

Fang's POV

It sucked. Directly from school, I had to come here and scoop icecream and put it in freezers. Before, it wouldn't have been so bad. I go home and do nothing anyway. But now, I couldn't see Max at all. Just when I made that stupid impulse note. God, she must think I'm so stupid.

She was probably with Dylan right now. She probably started smoking again since I haven't been there to tell her it's stupid. I sighed as the door 's bell rang. I looked up to greet the customer then did a double-take.

"Hey, I want ice cream," she said nonchalantly, evidently struggling to hide a smile.

"Max," I paused," what's up?"

"I want ice cream! I'm not here to talk about old times," she snapped, her façade nearly breaking mid-through.

I hid my smirk away and asked her very politely what flavor. She picked cherry cordial with a waffle cone like I knew she would. So predictable- its funny that we've had so many conversations that little things like favorite ice cream flavors would be mentioned.

I handed her the ice-cream and she stopped after her first lick and looked at me. She said, "I want to speak with the manager."

In my heart, I was laughing. But on the surface, I was completely straight faced. All for the sake of the game. " What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it? What's wrong with it?! Everything! This is an outrage!" she finished, while eating it.

I couldn't help it, my darn smirk found its way through. Only Max could do that. She laughed at my broken composure. "You're just...silly!" I stumbled out, acting as though it was an awful insult.

"You are!" she said, as the door's bell rang again. We averted our eyes as if we had just been caught in the act. I gave the customer ice cream and Max waited awkwardly in the sidelines at a little table.

The rest of the night, we talked and joked and insulted each other in between customers. For the first time, scooping up ice cream had been fun. At 9, I put away my apron and we walked home together. Max scorned me for walking alone so late, but I got her to shut up when I offered some of the things she did.

There was barely any cars on the streets. Barely any light, besides the dim and sometimes blinking streetlamps. When I walked home alone before, I didn't mind the creepiness of it because I distracted myself with my thoughts.

Max and I were the same like that- we were always thinking. Deep in thought. And it was a curse. Its like never being able to escape reality yet never actually facing it. Its hard to explain- like building a complex contraption that you never use.

Max doesn't want to settle, and I whole-heartedly agree because she shouldn't let her brilliance go to waste. She has a rare beauty that she doesn't even realize.

"I got you your birthday present, by the way. And you're gonna like it too! Or maybe not... I don't know," Max said, as we walked along the sidewalk.

"Really?"

She nodded as if I were a stupid little kid but I just didn't think she actually would- I had been joking when I demanded her to get me a present. And she knew that.

" You're a really nice person, you know that?"

Max smiled wide and happily, like a little girl. "I keep trying to tell everyone that, but they don't listen!"

"So what did you get me?"

"I ain't tellin'," she said, giving me a gentle shove.

I sighed dramatically and dragged out, "Fine."

"Don't be such a man-child or you're not getting any present."

I scoffed," Maybe you're not such a nice person."

"Maybe."

We arrived at her house and I held out my arms for a hug. It wasn't the Fang other people knew, but it was the Fang I was- who I was when I was with Max. She jumped into my arms, stepping on my feet. She tore away from me too soon sand waved goodbye.

When I laid down ready to fall asleep, I got a text.

~Sorry for stepping on your feet.

-Max

I beamed down at the screen like an idiot and texted back a reply,

~Goodnight! Don't let the bedbugs bite!


	15. Ain't No Sunshine

Disclaimer: i own nothing

I hope I don't lose any readers as the story progresses here- This is a turning point and I hope its not too sharp. But it does get a bit intense, I warn you.

Here it goes...

* * *

I didn't want to. But I started cutting again. Its been so long; a year, almost exactly I think. But I have and I have everyday for the past 17 days. The last time I saw Fang was that day at the icecream shop. I haven't even talked to him since. And its different for most people. For most people, if you don't see a friend you go to other friends. But I don't have any other friends. And Fang wasn't just a friend. He was my sunshine, my only sunshine. He was what I looked forward to, the highlight of my day.

I talk about him like he's dead, I know. I know I sound stupid, so helpless, and naive. But I miss him.

And everything's just gone downhill. For the first time in my life, I've kind of hated my mom.

She's turned against me. It feels like she's betrayed me. Again, I know I sound dramatic and naive. I know, I know- but I've read somewhere that if someone abuses you, after awhile, you begin to agree with them or sympathize with them.

My dad was on the computer, smoking pot- don't ask why, its his weird nightly ritual whenever he's actually home. I had to type up an essay, so I calmly asked him to get the hell up. I'll save you the tedious details, but it turned into my dad twisting my wrists then backing me up against the wall and hitting me repeatedly in the head- all while spitting obscenities loud enough for the whole street to hear. My mother rushed into the scene, and I went to protect her. But like the rejected underdog, my mother yelled at me as I was tied down in my stepfather's claws.

Not only yelling though. Yelling, I was used to. Yelling, she always did as do alot of moms. But she slapped me between words as my dad held me back. I stood there limply, like a fish with an unbearable ache swelling in my chest. She used to do this, when I was in middle school. But then we got so close, like best friends- what happened?

What happened, Mom? I asked with my wide eyes I feared were swelling with tears. At that moment, over and over again like a broken record I thought, I could never be loved now. I thought of Fang, how he deserves so much better. How I had ruined it for myself for good now, I could never be loved.

It was the worst feeling in the world. And I wanted to break skin. So I did. I don't understand it for myself, except that it's the biggest relief to see the blood. I am so fucking crazy, I couldn't be loved. I don't deserve it, I really don't.

That night, as the blood trickled down my forearm, I heard my parents talking across the hall. "I know you didn't do anything wrong," I heard my mom say and then, "She does whatever she wants to us."

Then I heard my stepdad say something like, "...Pyschiastrist or somethin', she's fuckin' crazy. Out of control."

I couldn't take it. I put on my shoes and hoodie and ran down the street to Dylan's. Ella was at Nudge's house. She always had an escape in friends. Me- all I had was alcohol.

I knocked on the front door. Dylan appeared with a cigarette between his fingers. He smiled when he saw me but then it changed to concern, "What's wrong, hunny?"

I dived into his arms and buried my head in his chest. His parents wouldn't be home, I knew- I needed to be drunk. Before I knew it, Dylan swiftly picked me up from under my knees and into the living room where he set me down on the stained couch. Johnny and Matt were sitting in the opposite arm chairs, I noticed.

"Hey, Maxie," Johnny said and Matt nodded at me with a smile. I had a feeling Johnny had some kind of crush on me or something, he was always staring. Dylan looked down at me with a puppy dog smile,

"You need anything?"

I caterpillared my finger at him, telling him to come closer. Once his ear was to my lips I whispered and he obliged to my request, quickly reappearing from the kitchen with a glass full.

I smiled at him childishly and drank up. Matt said, "Dang girl." I patted the space next to me, urging Dylan to sit. He did and stroked my hair like I was a little girl.

I felt like I was a little girl, even though I was in a very not innocent situation. I felt safe, like how you feel curled up by the fireplace in the dead of winter. I had needed love for so long, and I fed my hunger off of Dylan.

As the night dragged on, tipsy turned into rightly drunk. I was in Dylan's arms and I had begun crying, "It hurts so bad."

"Shh, honey," he cooed softly into my ear, stroking my hair as if I were the most delicate thing in the world.

Maybe I need to be drunk to feel a little love. Maybe I need to see a little blood to feel relief. Does that make me crazy?

No, that makes me fuckin' crazy.

* * *

I think I'm getting better. Ella insists I'm getting worse however, and claims I'm making myself that way by refusing to socialize. I shrug her off these days, I have too many words I could riddle off to her that it isn't even worth my time. She likes that Mom and Dad are 'making up' and told me not to ruin it with my violent nature. Trigger #1.

To her defense, she doesn't know about all the fighting because she's out most of the time, but she knows her dad and what he's done.

My mom got up in my face the other day, yelling and slapping me. So I nudged her face away. An honest nudge. I pushed her chin away, it was heat of the moment anyway. I have a problem with people in my face.

My dad immediately shouts, "Don't you lay a hand on her!" Trigger #2.

I saw Fang at school the other day. I was skipping class because Biology is full of khakied douchebags. I saw him... Just him, at first. And my heart pounded with naive teenage girl excitement- oh, I'm a hopeless case. He backed up and I saw he wasn't alone. No, he was attached by the mouth to some red haired girl. Trigger #3.

My heart flew to my throat and I ran to the bathroom stall. I couldn't breathe, I felt like I was going to puke. Call me a dumb tennage girl, but again I felt so worthless and minuscule.

So, Dylan has been my outlet. My escape. Johnny,Matt, Dylan, and I drive home in his truck everyday from school, and Dylan and I if not all of us go to his place. My mom works, his parents work- it works out well. My life has been a blur that I don't have to remember the past few days and I'm liking it. I feel free without all these things tying me down, and I don't need anyone, I've realized.

Why feel so much it hurts so bad when you can live like fuckin' Jim Morrison?

Maybe we were meant to feel, yeah? God makes it this way, huh?

Strike 3 and you're out. I am my only God now.

* * *

**Dont worry, Max's pit of despair won't last forever! Was the cutting a bit too much? I don't know, I just felt like it would fit just too stress that she maybe is really going insane in every sense.**

**The strike 3 thing, was like the trigger #1 and so on. you get it right? It wasnt jist random baseball terminology. Haha i dont know, i feel like i always try to add something 'clever' in and end up sounding stupid...merh**

**Tell me what you think! :{D**


	16. Life Isn't That Hard

Really sorry for long update but thanks so much those who reviewed, followed, favorited, read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Some days I feel better, some days I just don't want to even exist. I've lost some weight in the past week or so, I haven't found much of an appetite. I can't sleep.

Usually, if I pray to a God I don't believe in at night, it's that I find my people. These days, I've kind of just been wishing I don't wake up.

I need help. I'm crazy, I swear. I went to school so depressed and emotionally drained a few days ago, that I wrote a poem during first period. When I read it back, I even scared myself.

Things like, "I wanna jump. I hope you see my bloodied body." I'm tired of feeling this way, so fuckin crazy all the time.

My mom tried to tell me once that God makes it harder for the stronger people. But I'm not strong at all and I could've been dealt worse. But no, I can only dream up scenarios in which I tip myself off.

Am I mad at Fang? I'm not certain. I wrote a morbid poem in which I hoped he saw my dead body after I killed myself but was that anger? I think I'm probably just mad at myself for not ever being good enough. I dont know what's wrong with me. Love is wanting to make someone else happy and I still think about him, and wish I could hand over the world and more and do anything to make him happy. You can see the contradictory in my brain, it's like a freaking World War III up there.

* * *

I was walking down the hallway from math class when it happened. " Hey."

I looked up and there he was beside me. Fang, with a new, short haircut. Dumbfounded, I replied lamely, "Woah," at his nearly unrecognizableness.

"I knew you'd hardly recognize me. My parents made me, " he grinned, " What's up?"

"Uh, nothin'."

"You coming from Mr. Lankford?"

I nodded. He said," I have the class right next to that. That's weird."

Even though it wasn't that weird. What _was_ weird was that I hadn't seen him. He pulled out his phone and I looked over his shoulder at the screen frowning.

"Did you get a new number?" I asked.

"Uh, no. Phone bill hasn't been paid."

So he wasn't avoiding me or ignoring me. At least I had that, but I still couldn't talk to him as often. And he still belonged to someone else,apparently.

I looked down. "Oh."

"You okay? You look kind of, sick," he said with a undetectable hint of concern.

"Yeah, just tired. Fang, I-" I began but Fang began pushing me the other direction, down a different hallway. "Fang, what the hell?"

"I'm avoiding someone. Continue," he said.

" Avoiding someone? You don't seem like one to make enemies."

"What are you talking about? I'm very hardcore."

I rolled my eyes. "Who are you avoiding?"

"Just some really annoying girl. It doesn't matter."

"Fang, tell me!"

" Lissa, this red-head. You probably don't know her she's a freshman."

Ladies and gentleman, that moment- that moment was like the sky had cleared and the angels sang and then the narrator says," And they lived happily ever after." Just to show how pathetic I am that Fang literally makes or breaks me. I have so much of nothing and Fang is so much of something wonderful, that if he's gone nothing matters. If he's here, nothing matters but him.

I had realized we had ended up on the other side of the building from my class thanks to Fang's little decoy. I suddenly smiled brightly up at him, probably seeming really weird.

He just made a face at me even more weird though. "I've been told I look the guy from ' Where the Wild Things Are' when I do that."

I laughed, " We better hurry. The bell's about to ring."

"Hey, come down to UDF sometime. It gets boring," he said.

I paused. "Okay."

"Pinkie promise?"

I laughed. We did this before and he made fun of my bony fingers. So I made fun of him saying vampires aren't supposed to make pinkie promises. I put my pinkie out and he shook it with his. In my blind state of happiness, I didn't really pay attention to my sleeve slipping down a bit.

"Max...What-" he began but I quickly cut him off.

Luckily, we had made it to my class. "See ya," I said.

"Later," I heard him call from behind me.

Did he see them? My stupid, ugly scars. How in the world am I supposed to get him to love me now? I'm a smoker, a drinker, a sinner, a pyscho and now I'm a cutter too. Every boy's dream.

I laid my head down on my desk and sighed. Life sucks.

Fang's voice in my head responded, _Life isn't that hard._

* * *

That night, I had a dream. I laid my head on Fang's shoulder. I was unsure about it at first, unsure of how he would react, but when I did I didn't regret it. It was so warm, the loveliest feeling in the world; and he just leaned into me. Then we were walking and holding hands and my scars were gone. And God, we laughed so carefree. As if the stains of time hadn't touched us, as if not a thing in the world has or ever will hurt our feelings.

I woke up then.


	17. I Hate to See Your Heart Break

**Sorry ive had a load of crap piled on me these days, but here it is. And im sorry, its short but im typing this in school right now on my phone while I have free time.**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Fang's POV

* * *

I was sitting on Max's bed, mindlessly strumming my guitar. She was downstairs getting us a snack before I gave her another guitar lesson but by the muffled sound of it through the floorboards, she got into some kind of argument with Ella. It wasn't shouting, just bickering and it left me waiting and very bored.

Max's journal was on a side table, and I kept glancing at it anxiously. It seemed nosy, but I just wanted to see the poem from last time to put music to it. After awhile, I got up and thumbed through looking for it.

What stopped me was stark black pen scribbled in anger across a page. The handwriting was mean and hardly legible and some words had been stained with drops of water, or tears. But I could read some of it:

"I wanna jump... I want you to see me jump. I want you to see my lifeloss body sprawled and broken. I want you to see the blood so maybe you'll realize in how many ways you were right when you called me crazy and said I had a problem... Children screaming... All the blood... Panic on the streets... Give me love... All I wanted was love-"

The words became blurry, and I didn't know if it was tears in my eyes or my head pounding, muffling out my coherent thoughts. But I couldn't read it, was this Max's thoughts or just fiction. It had to be just creative writing, she loved that; but a burning in my chest, the corner of my mind that ached from all the tangled webs of Max, and how much I understood her and how much she was a mystery, echoed resoundingly to my heart that my fears were valid. Not just valid, but heart breakingly true.

I hurriedly put the page away, ripping out a fresh one. As I sat down, jotting down the first few lines, the door opened and Max appeared looking annoyed. She ran a hand through her mess of hair, "Sorry about that," she said, plopping down beside me and peering at what I was writing.

"An idea I had," I said. As she read, I read it back to myself; I wasn't finished and I didn't expect it to be any good.

"There is not a single word

In the whole world

That could describe the hurt

The dullest knife just sawing back and forth

And cutting through the softest skin there ever was

How were you to know? Oh, how were you to know?

And I hate to see your heart break

I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close

But I've been there before"

Max stared at it for a long time with her brows knit together, and I tried to read her thoughts. "I really like it, are you making it a song?"

I shrugged and she quickly said,"Because you should."

I hesitated then smiled at her subtly and simply. "Okay, you should help me."

* * *

Max's POV

It was weird. But somehow, this song summed up a piece of me. A piece of me thatbreathed to please, and died so many painstaking times with the most simplest things in ways no one else knew or could dream or fully comprehending. The hurt.

Before we knew it, it was nearly midnight and we had spent all our time on the song and with no regrets. I was going to sing it at Old Paul's, Fang decided. And whether he likes it or not, Fang will join me on stage.


	18. Hurt-Heart Mending

**Hey sorry for long time away, it was excusable though i swear! But ill try and be good with updating and such. Sorry if theres typos, i tried to make it long to compensate for my the long wait. Dont hate me im still here and i love you guys for reviewing and reading and stuff, youre freaking awesome. Kay ill shut up now.**

**Disclaimer: i own nothing. Paramore owns the song **

My mother and I were babysitting Angel and Gazzy. We took them to the park behind our house and we walking along the crooked shades of otherworldly- large trees. As the sun peeked through the branches, bending its light and playing in our hair and eyelashes, making my dirty blonde hair copper; I noticed my mom's hair was copper in the sun too. I furrowed my brows in curiosity and she questioned my expression with amusement.

She was trying to be like her old self, I had supposed. I have yet to find what made her come to her senses. I would forgive her, of course; we all go crazy and lose ourselves from time to time. Besides, I had no choice; my mom was my crutch. I needed her.

We watched on as Angel and Gazzy played on the playground equipment, their laughter floating on the breeze as light as the air on which it traveled to our ears. Angel's admiration of me shown as she chose to emulate my tendency to go about barefoot. I smiled. The frailty of genius is it needs an audience, but, hey, I didn't mind an admirer now and then. As long as she doesn't pick up the many downsides of myself.

My mom was talking, we had been laughing. Then she had said something, about how she wished she had someone to talk to. I caught her gaze sadly, looked away and continued walking as I said shortly, "You've got me, but I don't got you."

I looked back at her, she had stopped short somehow. For a moment, I thought she might have realized, have understood the full meaning behind my words. She kept walking, and jokingly sang, "I got you, babe."

Later on at a picnic table, I noticed something that may seem so silly but it made my heart throb. My mom had gray hairs. I know it's stupid to get so worked up over it, but for some reason, I always subconsciously thought her hair would always shine copper in the sun.

* * *

There was a fight, between my mom, my dad, and myself. And it's all my fault. I'm so fucking stupid, why can't I just keep my anger in? I sit on the couch stone-faced with bloody knuckles and red hand marks around my neck as my mom and dad scream at each other in front of me and Ella cowers behind the stair railings crying. Not that I blamed her, I just wish she would stop crying because it was really taking a toll on my heart. And I wasn't going to just stay here on the couch, not if he tried to lay a hand on her. But she hates for me to come in-between, she said its bad enough already, she asked me why I have to do this to her. So I'm staying out until I have to cut in.

Maybe it's horrible of me to think, but I'm kind of glad my mom is standing up to my dad for me again. I just hope she doesn't get hurt again.

"Are you going to do something about _that_?" he yelled at my mom, pointing at me. I stared blankly at the TV as it showed an I Love Lucy rerun. My father and I used to watch I Love Lucy every morning, and at night we'd watch Gilligan's Island. If he were here right now, the house would all be a little silent except for Lucille Ball and our shared laughter as we watch curled up on the couch, maybe with hot chocolate or pineapple pizza would be on the coffee table in front of us and we'd be fighting over the slices.

"This little bitch has no right to talk to me that way, I'll put her in jail. She's just a skanky whore just like you," he continued.

But instead, here I am. Reality is a funny thing, isn't it?

Later on, after my dad stormed out with his dope, my mom approached me. "I know, I know," I said as I tried to get away. She told me a million times- stay out of it, you make it worse, I knew it by heart and her saying it just pierced my heart.

"Listen to me, if something happened and-"

"I know, I'm sorry," I interjected.

"Yeah, you say you're sorry but you just keep doing it. You're just like him, that's what he does."

Oh god, here comes the tears. I hate crying. My mom began crying too. "Okay, can you just leave me alone? I'm tired of crying, and everyone crying, just leave me alone," I said weakly.

"But I don't want to leave you alone."

"Why?"

"Because I love you. And I want to know what I should do," she said.

"Make him leave! Tell him to pack up his shit and go."

"I've tried that, Max! He makes a big scene everytime in front of the neighbors everytime. And I'm sorry but I don't want to look..."

She broke off and I said, "Then it's just going to be the same. As long as he's here, nothing's going to change. So you can just leave me alone now."

"I don't want you to have to do this, Max."

"Well, sorry but you brought that upon me from the start when you brought him into the picture."

"I never meant-"

"Yeah, whether you meant to or not. Its not your fault, it his."

She put her head in her hands and looked up at me after awhile with teary eyes. Then she turned and left. I closed the door and as I turned around to face my room, there was a physical pain in my chest. I felt awful. Its all my fucking fault, all my fault.

* * *

Fang POV

We we're performing tonight. I wasn't anywhere close to ready to sing in front of all these people, but something pushed me to do it. Maybe the song, or the effort behind the song, or Max.

She stood in a simple blue dress, peeking out at the audience with a bit lip before sensing my gaze. She smiled at me, "Ready?"

And just like that it was show time. My feet were like bricks as I stepped out on the stage and the short walk to our wooden stools set up in the spotlight seemed to be miles long. The hot lights made my palms even clammier, and I momentarily feared I would drop my guitar. But Max had sensed my anxiety as walked out together and she took my hand and offered a reassuring squeeze.

The audience's applause died out as we wiggled into a our stools and positioned our guitars. Then it pieced together beautifully, brilliantly, and it didn't even hurt.

There is not a single word in the whole world  
That could describe the hurt  
The dullest knife just sawing back and forth  
And ripping through the softest skin there ever was  
How were you to know?  
Well, how were you to know?

And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before  
And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before

Love happens all the time  
To people who aren't kind  
And heroes who are blind  
Expecting perfect script in movie scenes  
Once an awkward silence mystery  
How were you to know?  
Well, how were you to know-oh-oh?

And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before  
And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before

For all the air that's in your lungs  
For all the joy that is to come  
For all the things that you're alive to feel  
Just let the pain remind you hearts can heal

Oh, how were you to know? (How were you to know?)  
Oh, how were you to know?

And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before  
And I, I hate to see your heart break  
I hate to see your eyes get darker as they close  
But I've been there before

The audience clapped, and an alien feeling grew within me. An indescribable feeling of happiness, almost adrenaline; it was freedom. I felt free there, singing and strumming next to Max and knowing the audience is enjoying my presence, appreciating what I have to offer. I don't know, I can't put it into words but I felt like I could do anything.

Afterwards, Max and I were greeted off stage by Ella, Iggy, and Nudge. Then, Max's mom. Max's face lit up in surprise as she hugged her mom, and her happiness warmed my heart. My mouth lifted its corners against my will.

Her mom exclaimed, "That was beautiful! You're beautiful, it was amazing! I didn't even know you could play guitar, why didn't you tell me?"

Then she told me, "You sing incredibly, your voice is so unique and gentle. You need to make this a career, you've got a gift."

"Thanks alot, I appreciate it," I smiled.

But as I watched Max's mom kiss her forehead, something felt as though it was missing. In fact, two things were missing. But that's okay, they do have things to do. I'm practically a grown man, anyway.

I hadn't even noticed the feeling of freedom had left me.

* * *

**So... Was it sort of good? Love you guys, have a good day and stuff:)**

**Laterz**


	19. Heroin and Festivals

**Hey guys thanks for all the reviews, I honestly love you guys so much, you're effing awesome**

**Gaby: its rated m because language, and there's violence and alcohol/ drug use, so I just wanted to be safe. Thanks for reading:)**

**GirlRebel: Thank you soo much I really appreciate it! :)**

**Different-Mind-Set: wow thanks so much, hearing stuff like that makes me so freaking happy. And when I say I own nothing in the beginning I just mean the characters belong to James Patterson and the songs belong to the artists haha but I do own the words:P Yeah I know, I looove Lana del Rey!**

**ghost1415: Her stepdad never beat Ella, he was just fighting with her mom. Sorry I made that confusing, I'll try be more clear. And yeah, that's why fangs parents didn't bother showing showing up, they're too snobby for that stuff:P**

**MaxPercyClaryNewtLenaKatnissKy: ha thanks. Yah ive been kinda sleeping on the job as far as actually getting somewhere goes, I know haha. But in this chapter the plot will begin to unfold:{D**

**okay here goes...**

* * *

A mahogany landscape of heavenly hues, a infinite ocean of whirlwinding turqoises and earthy browns. I was a ballerina on the swingset, closing my eyes, leaning my head back and letting my hair fall and drag momentarily along the playground dirt. My tanned bare toes gleamed a happy auburn as I swung them upwards, then back as momentum let me fall again.

My recluse here on the swing. I am floating, I am flying, I am falling. All at once, and none at all really but I close my eyes and I am. I can be as graceful a ballerina as I like, not my typical sloppy mess of whatever I'm supposed to be. I could be a bird; a dove, an eagle. An angel, maybe. I could be nonexistent.

"Max."

I didn't bother to lift me eyelids, I simply laughed. I knew that voice all too well. "Who, me?" I joked playfully.

"Come inside now," my dad said. His tone was different,"Open your eyes, Max."

Confused, a bit scared, I obeyed. The sky had abruptly changed color, a storm was rolling in quick and soon. I put my foot down to stop my swing, but as I was barefoot, asked my dad for assistance.

"Dad, can you-"

But he wasn't there. Nothing was. Just a storm, and a never-ending field of cracked dry earth and dying weeds. I wasn't even sure if the swingset still existed. I stopped swinging and my eyes, squinted against the sudden gusts of harsh winds, darted about the alien land I had found myself in.

My heart beat fast in fear. Something was approaching me, I could hear it; it's footsteps behind me, the cruching of dry weeds and the angry, gnashing of teeth. It was right behind me, but as I jerked my head in panic and turned on my heel in circles, I saw no threat other than the apparent storm to which I had no shelter.

I started running because it was all I could do. My barefoot bled but I didn't notice the pain. I started to wonder if the world had become like one huge revolving door of tall grasses, desert, and more nothingness.

My heartbeat thrummed loudly in my ears. It was getting closer, I could only run faster. And faster and faster.

I looked over my shoulder, still running, then felt myself falling. There hadn't been a cliff there moments before but now there was and I was going to die.

Falling and falling, then floating, then flying. _Flying_. Because I had wings.

I let out a relieved shout into the empty canyons, but it was drowned out as I fell down. My wings were cumbling. And that was the end of me.

...

"Open your eyes, Max."

No, just let me die.

"Max, I swear, you are such a pain. Its noon, time to get up. I've got to something to tell you."

Wait, why is Ella- oh. A dream.

"Whaa? Whaddya want?" I slurred, squinting up at Ella who sat beside me on my bed.

"There's a festival coming up this Friday at church!"

"...So?" I asked grumpily, sitting up on one elbow and rubbing my tired eyes.

"Well, Iggy says there's gonna be a competition with a prize of $500!"

"Cool," I replied sarcastically, trying to put my blankets back over my head.

"Max, shut up- let me finish! Its a singing competition! You and Fang have to perform!"

"Huh. Does Fang know about this?"

"Yep," Fang said from the doorway with a grin.

Iggy barged past him and made his way into my room as if he lived there his whole life and payed the rent, "Hey Max, we were waiting downstairs but we got bored. Glad you're not naked or anything, that'd be awkward."

I stared blankly at him for a moment, unsure of how to reply but Fang interjected the silence oddly enough, " So we doing this, or what?"

" Together?"

Fang shifted his weight, "Well,it's whatever... Together, separate, either way - I don't care."

Iggy clapped his hands together once, "Well, together it is then."

Ella laughed, and I noticed something, "Where's Nudge?"

"She's grounded for talking-back. Go figure, huh?" Iggy said.

I laughed. "Will she be able to go this festival thing?"

Ella shrugged, "Probably. I hope so. Now, get dressed! We're going to hang out Aand do stuff! You never do stuff with all of us as a group."

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly got out of bed. "I can't get dressed with you people in here."

I ushered them out and caught Fang's eye as I was shutting the door. He was smiling at me, and my heart skipped.

* * *

We were at the festival, strolling about on the gravel parking lot of the church and the grass lawn beside it, checking out booths and games and rides. It had been fun, we rode the Scrambler 6 times and I got cotton candy, funnel cake, kettle corn, and a fried Oreo. Now the sun was beginning to set and the string of lights strung around the booths were lit and the competition would begin soon.

"Max! Max!" Angel tackled me out of nowhere with a humongous bear hug. Her face was painted as a kitten. Gazzy's face was painted as Spiderman.

"Hey guys, having fun?" I asked.

"Yeah! The Funhouse was sooo much fun!" Angel enthused.

Gazzy scoffed, "Yeah the first time, the second time and even the fourth time was a little fun. But the eighth time you dragged me through there-"

Gazzy was interrupted by a man on the stage speaking on the microphone announcing the competition will begin in 7 minutes and all competitors should get to the stage area to get ready.

Fang and I were number 11 to perform out of 14 competitors so we didn't have to worry much, but we still headed down to the stage and separated from the group as they took seats light and on the lawn.

10 acts in and everyone seemed to just be desperate for money or just looking for fun or maybe both. Fang and I shared excited knowing looks. Neither of us wanted to speak too soon, but it seemed like we had it in the bag.

We sang an indie song no one else knows by Neutral Milk Hotel and Fang played guitar beautifully, then we walked offstage with a loud applause.

We were all sitting in the grass, in the wake of a setting sun, listening to others play their music when I decided I was thirsty. I figured the line at the concessions wouldn't be long so I told Fang I'd be right back and asked if he wanted anything, he said no.

When I got to the concessions, the guy stepped out after turning off the light and muttered a "We're closed." Almost simultaneously, all the rides' lights went out. I began walking back and it would have been creepy if not for the still lit string of lights. Suddenly, someone roughly grabbed me by my elbow from behind.

Sent into hypodrive, I whirled around with a fast-beating heart, expecting to see my dad but instead my eyes landed on Dylan. He looked different, he looked ragged and sick, almost, but most of all, cold. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils oddly pinpoint, and there were dark bags under them. I hardly recognized him, and I realized it'd been quite awhile since I'd last seen him.

"Hey, sweetheart, wha's up with you, huh?" he said drowsily, " 'Cause me? I 'been livin' like a king, ya know, I got all the..."

He began mumbling incoherently, and I worriedly said, "Dylan, you're drunk. Want me to call Johnny to take you home or something?"

He waved me off with a look of disgust, so angry it hurt me. "Just lemme be. I'm fine. You- you're..."

He trailed off again and realization struck me, I've seen old friends from Kentucky like this before. "Oh no," I muttered and asked him, "Have you been using heroin?"

He caught me in a dead gaze and I moved towards him, and put my hand on his shoulder but he slapped me across the face and I fell to the pavement. I stayed there for a moment, staring at the ground in shock. Not Dylan, too.

I made to get up but he picked me up by my face, and I was sure Id have bruises. I wasn't used to that, my dad always tried to stay away from the noticable places- because a noble man like himself doesn't belong in the pen.

"You're pretty, I love you. Does your daddy say that when he hits ya? Huh?" Dylan asked. He squeezed my face tighter and shook me, "Does he?"

"Does he punch ya like this?" he bellowed, punching me in the stomach so hard I fell to my knees. Does he hit you like this?"

I prepared myself for the next blow, but it was caught in the air by a hand. A guitar-playing hand. Fang shoved Dylan backwards, "You want to leave now," Fang said between gritted teeth as I made it to my feet.

"Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do?" Dylan slurred. I walked closer up to Fang, he took notice looking over his shoulder at me and lifted his arms a bit and stepped in front of me.

"Because you'll be dead or handcuffs if you don't," Fang said.

"Like I care. Punch me! Right here and make it hurt!" Dylan spat, pointing at his own temple.

I saw Fang's hand clench even tighter, and he stepped forward but I grabbed his arm."No, Fang, just leave him. He's not worth it, " I whispered.

He looked at me for a moment, then back to Dylan,who was nonchalantly backing up, and seemed to make a snap-decision.

"C'mon," he said grabbing me by the waist and pulling me hurriedly to wherever he was taking me.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, where-"

"Are you bleeding? Your face is bruised, does it hurt?"

"Not really."

"What did he do?"

"He just came up behind me and didn't do anything at first...then he slapped me and grabbed my face and...punched me. I dont know why... He does heroin now, that always messes people up," I said, swallowing down tears.

"I could kill him," he said, pulling me tighter as we turned onto the sidewalk. His grasp would have normally hurt my abdomen where I had been punched, but I needed his warmth so bad all I felt was the comfort from it.

My eyed began welling up against my will. Fang stroked my hair, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I know he's your friend."

"No, that's not it...You're my real friend. Its always been you," I said, burying my face in his shirt.

He went silent, and stroked my hair and whispered words of comfort until we stopped at his house. He tugged my hand and pulled me with him to the garage. He lifted up the garage door and nodded to the motorcycle.

"Whaddya say?" he asked.

My eyes widened with excitement, " Hell yes."

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**New chapter next week guys. Kay well, reviewing would be cool. Have an awesome life, I love you people.**


	20. I Just Ride

Happy late birthday HarmonyBenderFreak!

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Motorcycles are more exhilarating than any drug or kiss or anything I've ever experienced.

The wind chaps my lips and sends my hair flailing all around me wildly. My hands sweat with adrenaline and I tighten my hold around Fang's waist. Night had long since descended, and its chilling beauty crept out of the shadows. The darkness of night cast shadows on the desert and trees, contorting them from its aesthetic liveliness to an eery monster that bathed gracefully in the pale moonlight.

The open road can let my mind go silent if I'd like it to be or it can inspire me to conjure up a billion intertwining thoughts. Tonight, I preferred the latter and I kept thinking about Dylan. I felt as though I shouldn't blame him. It wasn't him who hit me, that was a monster he had somehow become in my absence. He was a puppy dog in a leather jacket. That's why, as soon as we return from wherever we were going, I will help him all that I can. I want Dylan back.

Fang is thinking too. I can see his brows drawn together, his features pooled with shadows from the headlights and lamplight. I wonder what he is thinking, as I look over my shoulder at him. And, for not the first time tonight, wonder how he became so skilled at driving a motorcycle.

I hope he doesn't stay mad at Dylan. But honestly, if Dylan hurt Fang I think I'd be more reluctant towards him.

They're probably wondering where we are, Fang had said and I had already thought. Neither of us cared, really. We mutually were stretched out to our limits, and put up with people. We mused whether we had won the contest that we had forgotten all about. We figured we probably did. Although, we weren't there to collect our prize so it was probably passed along to runner-up.

My mom would be worried, or maybe they'd all just assume I went to spend the night at Fang's, even though I'm not allowed. Pssh.

I silently prayed Fang would drive us soemwhere far away. I wouldnt even mind dissolving, being swept up by the wind. I hoped the motorcycle would take us to the kind of world where we belong. Where it's encouraged to get back to the roots of humanity. Where you're free to live out your darkest fantasies. And people like us, like me, wouldn't simply be considered crazy, but free.

I began to nod off, and fell asleep with my head on Fang's shoulder with the wind in my hair and a war in my mind.

* * *

I awoke in the parking lot of a dusty, old diner in the middle of a desert. Fang shook my shoulder gently, "Hungry?"

I must have slept through the night, I noted, as I watched a scarlet morning sun peek over the horizon melting the night's sky into pinks and oranges. "Have you stayed up all night?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

He nodded seemingly distracted as we entered the diner with a ring of the bell over the door. The joint was certainly tiny, and only a couple gruff men who appeared to be truckers and uniformed waitresses inhabited its small space. We sat down in a booth in a corner, littered with the crumbs of our predecessors.

A waitress with curly red hair took our , eggs, coffee, and 3 hotcakes with bacon and hashbrowns; I, 3 hotcakes, coffee, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Both of us being employed, we had some money on us most of the time so we could easily satisfy our abnormally large appetites. The waitress made a face at our long list as she scribbled it down but smiled before turning on her heel to the kitchen.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside Las Vegas."

My eyes widened. He said, "I hope you don't mind. I would've asked you but you fell asleep and I just figured-"

"No, I definitely don't care. Are we gonna, like, go to casinos and stuff?" I said excitedly. We weren't old enough but could definitely pass.

"Didn't you once say the lottery is like someone telling you pick the right straw of hay or I shoot you?" he said.

"That's lottery not gambling."

"True. I suppose so, if we can get in. We'll have to call our parents before anything."

I rolled my eyes. I knew we needed to let them know where we were and I wanted to but it seemed like this was an opportunity to find freedom and that such rules and obligations were in violation of said freedom. Childish, yes.

"Okay," I agreed.

The waitress came by with our food and we dove in. For a truck-stop diner, the food was really good. Greasy, deep-fried, and plentiful just how I like it. I noticed Fang had been staring out the window in deep thought.

"Hey, somethin' wrong?" I asked.

He shooked his head and returned to his food, but then dropped his fork and looked at me. "Does he hit you?"

I was caught off-guard and nearly choked on my eggs. "Wh- what?"

"Dylan had said...your dad..."

"That was the first time Dylan hit me, and he was under the influe-"

"No, not Dylan." He knew I knew what he meant the first time. And my reluctance to answer answered his question.

"Sometimes. Not always, it's not a big deal." I felt ashamed, somehow. Embarrassed.

For some reason, although I always kept it hidden, it felt as though Fang already knew about my stepdad. I forgot he didn't know.

The topic was dropped, to my surprise. The conversation was changed. And the rest of our diner experience was spent with much lighter air. After our plates had long been cleared , we stuck around just talking and laughing.

I asked if he'd want me to drive but he said he'd prefer to return home alive. I countered that I would too, I couldn't understand how he could stay up all night through. But he assured me he filled up on coffee.

Next stop, Las Vegas? Hm, that's bound to be an experience.

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**Hm Fang and Max headed to las vegas? How does that sound familiar?**

**I will be quite busy in the coming days, however dont lose hope on me updating because I shall when I get the chance. And I have to feel like it too, sometimes Im just like bleh I have to but I dont wanna. But you guys do make me wanna update and stuff so yah. Irrelevance, I know. **

**Well HAPPY (late) FREAKIN BIRFDAY HARMONYBEMDERFREAK again! you're awesome!**

**Thank you for reading guys, I love you all :')**


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